


Unpaid Interns

by BananaGhoul



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series, Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Anal Sex, Claustrophobic Situation, Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Frustration, Smut, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaGhoul/pseuds/BananaGhoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bakura and Marik infiltrate KaibaCorp under the guise of two employees</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thank You for Being a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is based on Yu-Gi-Oh! The Abridged Series, created by LittleKuriboh. I owe my respect and appreciation to him as well as Kazuki Takahashi, the creator of Yu-Gi-Oh. Both of these lovely people have managed to create things that have walked me through some of my darkest times.
> 
> [May 7, 2016] - Hi everyone! Just popping in to express my gratitude for all the love and support this fic has received. Sometime yesterday it managed to reach 1000 hits and I think that's incredible! Thank you for reading, and thank you for your continued readership.
> 
> [September 1, 2016] - Another milestone! Thank you so much for helping this fic reach and surpass 100 kudos! *pops open a bottle of champagne*

“Exactly one month ago today, famed CEO of KaibaCorp, Seto Kaiba, and Yugi Mutou dueled on international television for the supreme title of Battle City Champion. Now, this reporter is ecstatic to announce that yet another KaibaCorp championship has been declared. A so-called Battle City Finals rematch, Dine & Duel, a title coined by fans, will be an invite-only event next Saturday, broadcasting live on this network at 6pm sharp. This will truly be a night worth--”

The reporter's voice was abruptly silenced as the TV went black. “I thought I told you to stop watching rubbish.” Remote in hand, Bakura stood behind the couch, glowering downward at Marik.

“What are you doing? She was just getting to the good stuff!” Marik crowed, reaching for the remote, an item he had grown used to calling “the channel changer.”

Bakura evaded his attempts by simply holding it over his own head. “There's nothing  _ good _ about the mass media. I'm sure they were only going to show footage from Kaiba's press release anyway.”

“That's precisely what I wanted to see! Now, give it back!” Marik launched himself over the back of the couch, catching Bakura by surprise and bringing them both down to the hardwood floor with one heavy  _ thud _ .

“Marik, I assure you, Kaiba's face is nothing to be excited over—OUCH,” Marik wrenched Bakura's arm into an impossible position, struggling against his shoves and attempts to break free. “WOULD YOU QUIT THAT?”

“SAY 'UNCLE',” Marik shouted, now trying desperately to pry the channel changer from Bakura's fingers.

“WHAT? NO.”

“JUST SAY IT.”

“I'M NOT SAYING IT.”

Finally Marik jerked the remote out of Bakura's grasp and violently mashed the TV's power button before throwing it across the room to keep it out of arm's reach. He stayed in that position, straddling Bakura's chest as Kaiba's voice rang out from the television. “...And then of course, Yugi Mutou, who will be dueling against yours truly to conclude the evening.”

“Damn it, Bakura! You made me miss the invite list!”

Bakura stared up at Marik's chin, trying to distract himself from the crotch mere inches away from his face. Only a thin layer of denim separated him from Marik's junk—and that was something he couldn't afford to get excited over, especially in this precarious position. He began to flush. “Why does it matter who's invited? You know it's always the same people.”

“Well, yeah, but, like... What if  _ we _ were invited?”

Bakura couldn't help letting out a barking laugh. “ _ We're _ the ones that screwed up the Battle City Tournament to begin with.  _ We're  _ the whole reason he's calling for a rematch—Why would he want us there at all?”

Marik slid off of Bakura's chest and got to his feet. Of course he agreed with him. It's true. If it weren't for the chaos caused by his even eviler side, the tournament would have gone exactly the way Kaiba would have wanted—mostly. Yugi would have won just as he always does, but this time it would have been without interference. Kaiba wouldn't have had any antagonists to blame for the outcome.

“Well, I mean...” Marik muttered, searching for the channel changer he had so carelessly tossed across their living room, “I've been thinking about that thing you said to me just before I came back to Domino City... About how I'm still indebted to you.”

It wasn't all that long ago. The smoke had cleared from the Battle City Tournament, Marik had returned to Egypt with his siblings, and Bakura resumed life as he had before—only this time, ‘life’ for him meant surviving without his precious Millennium Ring in the deepest corners of Ryou's mind. As difficult as it was, given time he managed to take control of Ryou's body once again, but he was without much of a place to go from there. Out of desperation, he recalled the deal he made with Marik just before the Battle City Finals, and knew he could still use it to his advantage.

“Yes, that you still owe me a shot at acquiring the Millennium Items. It's only fair that you make good on your word.” Bakura sat up, stretching the arm Marik had contorted just moments before.

Marik nodded as he finally located the remote. “Yugi has your Ring, along with a few of the other Millennium Items. And I heard the winner of next week's duel will get ownership of all three god cards.”

Bakura's eyes widened in that moment. “You're not saying we should participate, are you?”

“No!  _ God _ , Bakura. Look at you, always jumping to conclusions. We're not even that good at Duel Monsters anyway.”

“Speak for yourself.” Bakura rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking we could use this opportunity to steal back the Millennium Items— _ and  _ the god cards...  _ If _ we were invited, that is.”

Bakura gazed at Marik from across the room, thinking over what he had said. Of course Yugi would have the Millennium Items with him--leaving them at home unguarded would leave them open for people like Bakura to snatch up. With each day that passed, Bakura could feel a growing yearning to be reunited with it. He could hear it call out to him in the night. He could feel the cold metal against his chest, as if it were still hanging from his neck, clinging to his flesh. And knowing that the pharaoh now possessed his precious artifact burned a new, passionate hatred in his cold heart.

“Marik... If we're going to steal things from Yugi, we shouldn't need an invitation. Let's just break into the bloody championship and take them.” Before he even realized it, Bakura was standing, his mouth twitched into a wicked grin, heart pounding erratically with excitement. “It's perfect. We'll wait for everything to be in one place, and we'll strike. Yugi and Kaiba will be too busy shouting quips at each other to notice us making off with the prizes.”

Across the room, Marik tapped his foot. “Okay, but, they're not going to just let us in. It would be way easier if we were already inside before the event starts.”

Bakura mused that over. He admittedly knew nothing of KaibaCorp's layout, and would probably spend more time getting lost than doing anything productive. Kaiba and his employees were no doubt the only people that knew anything about navigating the building, its security systems, and the best places to hide. He massaged his temples, eyes locked on Marik, who still stood in the same place at the far wall, distracted by the TV options on the remote.

“Haha! Look, Bakura! With this button I can make Kaiba look like he's in the wild west! It's what he's always wanted, probably!” Marik switched the setting back and forth from normal to sepia tone.

“Marik, stop screwing around,” Bakura huffed. “I think I have an idea.”

Marik looked over his shoulder. “This better be a good one because Golden Girls is coming on in three minutes and it's the one where they seductively lay across the piano at the bar and sing to all the men. It's highly relatable.”

“We should work for KaibaCorp.”

“What.” Marik cocked an eyebrow. “Of all your silly ideas, Bakura, this one takes the cake. I don't think any sane human being would want to work for Kaiba. Didn't you see him on the blimp? Joey was, like, dead and he was all 'Nope, the duel's still on, let's see who stands up first.'”

Bakura ignored Marik's comment. “You said it yourself, it would be easier if we were there, poised for the attack before the duel begins. And no one knows the KaibaCorp building better than its employees. Just think, if we can infiltrate the company under the guise of two regular employees, we could scope out the area and plan everything out from there.”

“Kaiba wouldn't hire us in a million years!” Marik replied suddenly. “My resume looks terrible. I had Odion put it together for me and he used the friggin Papyrus font.”

“I don't plan on interviewing for the position, Marik. We're just going to take the damned job.”

“Ohhh, so we're just going to steal that, too. Okay.”

Bakura nodded while taking a seat on the couch, still in a frenzy at the prospect of finally taking back what was his, along with the god cards. This was the lead he'd been looking for since he returned from Battle City, frayed and helpless. It was a long shot, but at this point, it would have to do. The pharaoh wouldn't even know what hit him. He took a seat on the couch, trying not to look at Marik's ass as he passed and sat down beside him.

Marik switched the TV back to its normal color settings and rapidly flipped through the channels. “Okay, Bakura, don't interrupt me this time. I only get to hear the Golden Girls theme song once a night, and I think I finally have all the words memorized.”

Bakura inhaled, relaxing into the sofa cushion behind him. If his mind weren't in other places, he would have taken his leave at that moment, sparing himself the torture of listening to Marik sing along to  _ Thank You For Being a Friend _ at full volume, all the while using the channel changer as a microphone. But, that night he chose to let him have his fun, watching in amusement from his side of the couch.

**

Just as the clock above the television struck half past three in the morning, Bakura's eyes cracked open, fresh from a dream he could hardly recall. All he knew was that the friendly feeling of impending doom helplessly gripped at the edges of his unconsciousness, a leftover feeling from his forgotten nightly visions.

“Nnhhh... Bakura...”

His eyes snapped in the direction of Marik's sleepy voice and he was surprised to find himself slouched against his roommate's shoulder, arm lazily draped across Marik's body. A tiny pool of Bakura's own drool tinged Marik's sleeve where his head had rested seconds prior. He felt heat flood into his face, but it settled when he noticed Marik's eyes were still closed, face peaceful.

The TV was running an early morning infomercial about kitchen utensils. Bakura didn't care much for television of any kind, but Marik insisted upon moving in that they get one. It was a blessing and a curse wrapped into one; it kept Marik busy and entertained, yet it was rarely ever turned off, or at any kind of  _ normal _ volume. Even on days that they weren't home, he would return to find it having been left on all day, blaring so loudly it was audible down the hall. In the early mornings he would find Marik curled up in front of it, sleeping soundly amidst all the noise.

Bakura brushed a single hand through his fluffy white mane, glancing over at Marik and trying not to pay attention to the saliva he'd dribbled onto his shirt. He looked to his own hands and wished he had left them where they were; across Marik's midriff. Being as frustrated as he was, it was the little victories that eased his lustful mind; accidental physical contact, close encounters, Marik's frequent half-nudity. It was all nauseatingly tantalizing to him. Bakura could feel a stirring in his pants as he thought about it.

“Bakura... Stop ruining Golden Girls....”

Bakura cocked an eyebrow at his sleeping roommate. He wished so badly to know what went on in that mind of his. Did Marik's dreams of Bakura ever get as scandalous as Bakura's daytime fantasies of Marik? Curious as he was to see how he looked in Marik's dreams, he had a feeling he was better off not knowing.

Bakura bit his own lip to curve his thoughts away from where they were going. He stood from the couch and turned the TV off, finding a blanket to lay across Marik's sleeping form. After flicking the rest of the lights off, he made his way down the short hallway to the right of the living room and dropped onto his own bed, allowing his dark dreams to find him once more. This time he hoped for dreams of victory over the pharaoh, for come morning time he planned to set their idea into motion, and he knew there would be no looking back at that point.

However, what felt like mere moments later, Marik's shrill voice called out from the kitchen, the sound of the Morning News jingle adding insult to injury. “Ohhh Bakura! Wakey wakey! I've made breakfaaast!”

“So that's what that burning stench is,” Bakura muttered darkly into his pillow, wishing sleep would take him back.

Marik's voice drew nearer. “Do you want water or orange juice?”

“Tea is fine, Marik.”

“It's funny because you're British!” This time Bakura could tell Marik was poking his head through the cracked door.

Bakura gritted his teeth and tugged the covers up over his head. “ _ Water _ is fine, then.”

“Ohh, Bakura. Don't be a stick in the mud. I'll make you tea... I'll just need you to show me how to do that.”

“I'll make it myself, then.”

When silence followed, Bakura poked an eye out from the space between his comforter and pillow, and was met with Marik's stare, no more than a few inches from his. Instinctively, he propelled himself backward out of surprise. “What in the bloody hell are you doing?”

Marik, sporting his favorite  _ Kiss the Co*k _ apron (a happy morning rooster adorning the front), laughed loudly at Bakura's reaction. “It's funny because you said another British thing!”

“Piss off.”

Just as Marik opened his mouth to respond, the smoke alarm pierced through their small quarters, echoing in Bakura's skull and causing Marik to spring backward in surprise. His head jerked back and forth between the hallway and Bakura, unsure of how to respond or what could be causing the sound. Suddenly, a grave look settled on his face. “I forgot about the biscuits.”

“Don't just stand here!” Bakura shouted, hands clasped to his ears. “Go get them out of the oven!”

Marik scurried out into the kitchen, yelling words Bakura couldn't make out over the sound of the alarm. He rose from his bed and peeked out into the hallway, deeply sighing when he noticed the cloudy texture to the air near the ceiling. As Marik tended to his burnt biscuits, Bakura grabbed a kitchen towel and fanned the nearest smoke detector, wincing against the piercing chirps until they finally ceased. He shot an icy glare over his shoulder at Marik, who dejectedly looked over the tray of blackened breakfast pastries.

“Well, that was quite the wake-up call,” Bakura remarked sarcastically, rubbing away the crust at the corners of his eyes.

“Sorry” was all Marik said in response, his voice taking on a tone that made Bakura's stomach tighten and his heart feel heavier than normal—a physical reaction Bakura was unfamiliar with. He dropped his shoulders and paced into the kitchen, wincing when he noticed just how burned the biscuits turned out. The smell made him feel dizzy.

“I-It's really not that big of a deal. You can just pick the charred parts off,” Bakura said as he prodded the blackened rounds, but they were hard as rocks. He swallowed, glancing to Marik, who held an intense expression. He considered taking a bite, but stopped himself. It shouldn't have mattered that much to him, and he didn't want Marik to think he was going soft.  _ “... _ Or we can go out to breakfast.”

Marik's eyes lit up. “I was hoping you'd say that because I don't even like cooking--too many numbers.”

“Yes, let's not make it more complicated than it needs to be,” Bakura replied, feeling like he had defused a bomb in the time since he woke up. “Allow me to freshen up and we'll go out.”

“Good idea. I didn't want to mention it but your butt crack has been very distracting,” Marik stated, tossing the biscuits one by one into the trash.

Bakura stopped mid-stride, pulled his sweatpants up and sleep shirt down, and then proceeded down the hall, face red and mind flustered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapter 2 to come soon!


	2. You Can't Rush Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! After this update, I plan to post a new chapter at least once every week. I wish I could do more, but I have to keep up with my job, and editing alone takes me a couple days. Thank you for all the kind responses to Chapter 1! I've had a lot of fun working on this fic.  
> 

 Not long after Marik had finally put on appropriate clothing and Bakura had donned his typical striped crewneck and black jacket, the two set out for the diner they frequented when normal meal plans went awry. A locally owned joint, it sat on the corner of two equally busy streets and barely fit no more than ten tables and a few booths. Being a weekday, there wasn't much of a wait once the pair entered.

“I'd like a short stack of pancakes—with chocolate chips on top—arranged like a smiley face, please,” Marik said as their waitress, a younger girl with her brown hair in a high bun, gave a couple distant nods. “You know, the last time I asked for a smiley face, I got a frowny face and that's just unacceptable.”

“It was upside down, Marik,” Bakura cut in. “You were turning it to face me, remember?”

“Oh, that's right! Never mind, forget my complaint,” Marik said, handing his menu over to their waitress, “Oh! And I want orange juice—please.”

“I'll just have two scrambled eggs and a hot tea,” Bakura stated when it was his turn. Once the waitress went back to the kitchen, he grinned wildly at Marik. “So, let's figure out how this is all going to go down.”

Marik, who was playing with the tiny cups of coffee cream at their table, shot him a confused glance and then suddenly it all came back to him. “Ohh, you mean about breaking into KaibaCorp.”

Bakura promptly shushed him, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else in the room overheard him. “I'd say _infiltrating_ is a more suitable word. I thought this over a bit last night before we fell asleep.”

“You didn't miss Golden Girls with all that thinking, did you?” Marik asked, looking truly concerned. “I mean, we finally got to see another side to Dorothy's character and—”

“No, no. Golden Girls had my... my undivided attention,” Bakura said, though all he could remember of their TV viewing was glancing at Marik's crotch every so often and trying to imagine what he was packing under those tight pants. “That's beside the point.”

Before he could continue, their waitress brought over his hot tea, plate of scrambled eggs and Marik's orange juice. Bakura waited to continue until after she came back with Marik's pancakes and finally left them alone. “I don't think it will be difficult for us to blend in at KaibaCorp, honestly. I mean, we'll need to look the part and find a way of entering the building, but other than that, I get the sense that Kaiba doesn't check in with his employees often.”

Marik chewed and swallowed a bite of his top pancake, taking the chocolate chip “eye” with it. “What does Kaiba even do outside of holding tournaments? I place my bets on blimp rides. Imagine that, Bakura, _free_ blimp rides just because you own a friggin company.”

“Stay with me, Marik.”

“I have a point, Bakura: if we break in, we could take the blimp for a ride, I mean, if he's not already gallivanting across the country in it like a rich lunatic.”

Bakura sighed, choosing not to respond to Marik's last statement. He finally ate his first fork-full of scrambled eggs and sipped his tea. It was still scorching hot, but it felt nice traveling down his throat, warming him from the inside out. “I say we scope out the area later and find a couple good target employees to take down.”

“What will we do with them?” Marik asked after another bite of his pancakes.

His roommate shrugged. “Not important. So long as we can get information from them.”

Marik's eyes lit up and he set his fork down on his plate. “Do I get a sexy business suit? My midriff looks great, and I'm easily a hit with the ladies when I show it off, but suits have a new level of sex appeal.”

Bakura nodded, choosing once again to not respond verbally. Whenever Marik mentioned wanting to impress women, despite knowing how obviously gay he was, Bakura couldn't help but feel a tension in his stomach. He shook it off, knowing Marik never seemed to fully act on it. He took another bite of his breakfast. “We have six days starting today. I think that's plenty of time to establish ourselves—especially at a company with such a revolving door. I bet they see new faces all the time.”

“You're forgetting that Kaiba has seen our faces before,” Marik pointed out as he stabbed his second pancake.

“Don't worry about it, Marik. It will all come together in due time,” Bakura couldn't mask the smirk on his face as he sipped at his tea. It all seemed perfectly attainable. He could nearly feel the Millennium Ring on his fingertips, an item that brought him the closest he's ever felt to peace in his entire existence. Possessing Ryou without it was exhausting, no doubt. He could feel his soul struggling to maintain with each minute that passed. The Ring didn't belong with the pharaoh—and it never will. He relished in the idea of carving his own name into the pharaoh's tomb; to obtain power unimaginable. To see the pharaoh's face in the midst of flames, listening to his screams of agony, watching his figure crumble into the ashes below.

“Bakura, you have egg on your face,” Marik pointed his fork, a bit of pancake skewered on the end, in his roommate's direction.

Snapping out of his daydream, Bakura wiped his mouth with the napkin that was once wrapped around his silverware. Despite his attempts to stay cool, he couldn't help but feel heat rush into his face. “Hurry up and finish,” he said. “If you'll excuse me, I need to go to the restroom.”

 

 

After a bit of walking, the two ended up in the heart of Domino City, keeping themselves concealed within the shadows of the many alleys along the way. As they closed in on KaibaCorp, Bakura grew more and more alert, his eyes glancing all around him, yet somehow maintaining a murderous confidence. Marik stayed a couple feet behind, arms behind his back, and humming the Golden Girls theme song to himself.

“Not much longer, Marik. Just ahead we should have a good vantage point of the KaibaCorp building,” Bakura said over his shoulder, though Marik didn't seem to be paying attention.

“You know what really bothers me?” Marik asked, rubbing his brow. Bakura glanced over his shoulder curiously before Marik continued. “How there are only three chairs at the kitchen table in Golden Girls, when there are _four_ ladies in that house.”

Bakura shook his head. “I don't know—maybe so they wouldn't film the back of someone's head.”

“They can still add a fourth chair, though. Just two of them would have to sit on the one side next to each other,” Marik retorted, gesturing his hands melodramatically.

Without realizing or planning on it, Bakura quickly responded, “It wouldn't look natural that way—no one crowds together on one side of the table if there's an open space for a seat on the other side.”

“Who cares if it looks natural! They're on a friggin television set! Is it natural to hear an audience laugh every time you make a joke in your own home? I'd like to speak with this show's director.”

Before they had realized it, they were at the end of the alleyway, and Bakura stopped dead in his tracks, wincing when Marik clashed against his back. For a brief moment, Marik's body against his own had his heart pumping feverishly, but what had it beating harder was the two figures that nearly spotted them, if it weren't for the way Bakura grabbed Marik by the arms and pulled him against the nearby wall. Two KaibaCorp employees moved leisurely past the opening without looking in.

Marik's breath was quick, but Bakura managed to keep his own breaths shallow and quiet. His hands were still gripping Marik's forearms as they waited for the two employees to clear out of the immediate area. “Do keep quiet, Marik, they could have seen us.” He purposely kept his gaze away from Marik's, knowing that they were dangerously close to each other. For a few seconds they stood like that in silence, waiting for an appropriate time to speak again.

Bakura released Marik's arms when the two employees were out of direct sight. “We should follow them. I'd bet they're new-hires.”

“How do you figure?” Marik asked, taking a step forward.

“The fresh, eager looks in their eyes,” Bakura muttered before grabbing Marik by the wrist and taking off down the alleyway, back in the direction they had come from. “We can intercept them at the next opening if we hurry,” he said in a hushed tone.

“Heads are going to roll!” Marik almost shouted. “That sounded menacing, right?”

“Sure, Marik,” Bakura replied, trying to hide the slight smile that formed on his lips. The two rounded the next corner and then the next, almost at the intersection point. The excitement of the chase was upon them, the air thick with energy. “We need to catch them by surprise to throw them off.” He slowed as they approached a dumpster and it didn't take long for Bakura to spot a metal pipe, around two feet long leaning against it.

Marik's face lit up in response. “I want a cool weapon!”

“Then find one, but I don't think it will take much to knock these guys out. If we had our Millennium Items this wouldn't be a struggle at all.”

“It would be waaay easier if their names happened to be Steve,” Marik said over his shoulder as he leaned over a garbage bag beside the dumpster. Bakura continued toward the alley's exit.

Just as he reached the intersection with the street, Bakura flattened himself against the wall, and hissed for Marik to hurry up. The voices of the two employees drew nearer and Bakura knew there was no way he could detain both of them on his own.

Marik struggled to pull something from the garbage, and for a moment Bakura felt that their plan would be doomed. “Let's go, let's go,” Bakura muttered, tapping his foot. However, just at the right moment, Marik straightened up and came sprinting over to where he stood, flattening against the wall as well.

“Okay,” Bakura began, his following words coming out in a rushed manner, “Once we pull them in here with us, we're going to need to knock them out. Once we get them down, the rest is for our taking.”

He peeked around the corner slightly, and luckily wasn't noticed by either approaching man. They were both similar heights and body types to himself, which was reassuring. One walked about a foot ahead of the other, looking over his shoulder to continue their casual conversation. “When they're both in sight, you take the one in front, I'll take the one from behind.”

Marik could hardly contain his immature remarks about Bakura's warning. Bakura rolled his eyes, but readied himself. “On the count of three... One... Two... Three!”

They both sprung out a moment short of Bakura's calculation, but had luckily maintained a sense of surprise, as both men were taken off guard and ripped into the alleyway with them. With one quick swing, Bakura knocked his out cold, letting him fall to the asphalt below. Marik, on the other hand wasn't as agile.

Marik's target narrowly avoided his attack and the momentum from his dodge caused him to amble in Bakura's direction. He grabbed onto Bakura's shoulders and tried to throw him to the ground, but Bakura redirected his attack and managed to bring him to the ground instead, Bakura pulling him into a choke hold. “Take him out!” He hissed at Marik.

Marik swung wildly, nearly striking Bakura, and somehow it was enough to cause the KaibaCorp employee to fall limp in Bakura's arms.

“Well, that could have gone better,” Bakura remarked, shoving the stranger off of him. “What in the bloody hell did you hit him with?”

“Uhhh, I'm not sure,” Marik sheepishly admitted. “You were stressing me out so I just grabbed whatever my hand touched.”

He held up the object and their eyes doubled in size when they saw, from the little bit of light coming in from the streets, what Marik had used to knock a KaibaCorp employee out with: a thick, textured dildo.

“Ohhh, what a waste!” Marik sighed. “A perfectly good dildo someone just threw away!”

Without a moment's notice Bakura slapped the dildo out of Marik's hand. “Marik! Who knows what kinds of bodily fluids were on that thing! Gross! Just gross!”

“Chill out, I'll wash my hands. Geez.”

Bakura examined the employee on the ground before him, a rather young one, though definitely older than himself, er, Ryou. “There's no way that thing was what knocked him out. He probably fainted out of fear.”

Marik rolled his eyes. “Maybe I'm just stronger than you think, eh, Bakura?”

Bakura laughed in response, then cast his gaze over the other unconscious form on the ground, the one that _he_ knocked out. “Let's see you use that 'strength' then. You get that one and I'll get this one. We need to clear the area.”

It took them some time, but eventually both of them were able to drag the unconscious bodies to an even shadier area, far from the streets. Marik dropped his employee to the ground and groaned obnoxiously. “I'm going to feel this for a week—I didn't realize he would be _this_ heavy.”

“Limp bodies are heavier than conscious ones—not that I know from experience or anything,” Bakura grinned.

“Don't be creepy, Bakura,” Marik responded, folding his arms. He leaned over the man he had been carrying moments before, checking his face for any signs of awakening.

They were in a dead end back alley of sorts, behind of a couple buildings. With the overcast skies being as dark as they were, the environment appeared much drearier than it would have normally been.

Just as Bakura prodded the employee he had knocked out with his foot, Marik's began to stir, moaning into the pavement. He turned onto his side and then his back, his eyes barely opening. Suddenly, panic set in across his face. He attempted to sit up, but Marik stepped on his shoulder, keeping him to the ground.

“What—What do you want from me?” He squeaked, eyes flicking back and forth between Bakura and Marik.

“Relax, we only have a couple questions for you,” Bakura answered.

The employee's gaze connected with his unconscious coworker. “Is he dead?”

“Not yet,” Bakura's voice grew wicked. He approached the awake employee, his foot inches from his throat. “How long have you worked at KaibaCorp?”

“How--” He started to ask, but Marik held out the employee's Access Card between two fingers in response. “Two days. Same as him,” he nodded toward his coworker.

Marik and Bakura glanced at each other and then back down at the new-hire. “Doing what?”

“I'm—we're interns—what do you want with us?”

“Oh, just a couple more things.”

 

 

“How much longer are you going to take in there, Marik?” Bakura asked through the bathroom door back at their apartment. Draped over his arms was the suit he had swiped off of the employee he had knocked unconscious. He knew they didn't have much longer until they, or the employees they were impersonating, were expected to return to work for more training.

“You can't rush beauty—or in my case, absolute sexiness!” Marik replied from within. A few seconds later, he stepped out in his business suit. It wasn't a perfect fit—he complained at first that it didn't contour his buttocks the way clothes are meant to—but it was a stunning, unusual look on him. The way his messy hair clashed with the straight seams and clean cut edges.

Bakura couldn't take his eyes off of him. It was like every fangirl's dream. Marik Ishtar, easy on the eyes to begin with, in a suit. He couldn't help imagining ripping the outfit off him, popping the buttons off in desperation, sliding his hands underneath the jacket so as to guide it off of his shoulders... violently yanking his belt loose and palming him between the legs.

“The shoes are kind of big—and I don't even know what to do with this friggin thing,” Marik held up the black tie in frustration.

Silence. Bakura was still entranced, being pulled down by the undertow of his own hot and heavy desires. He bit down on his own tongue in an attempt to release himself, and luckily it was enough to bring him to. “I'm not too good at that kind of thing,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on their feet. “Just google it or something. Can I change now?”

When he entered the bathroom he immediately jammed his hand against the sink's faucet handle, sending icy water spraying out, and cupped the water with both hands, splashing his face with it. As he let reality sink in, the erection he had hidden slowly reduced in size. He stared at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror, water dripping from the tips of his spiky bangs, down his cheeks and over his lips. “ _What the fuck are you doing?_ ” He whispered to himself. “ _Get a hold of yourself._ ”

Finally he began to change into the business suit. It didn't look bad on him either, though the undershirt clung uncomfortably to his chest, and it felt as if the trousers were gripping him in the worst places down below. He stepped out of the bathroom, tugging the shirt collar away from his neck. In the living room, Marik had somehow tangled his tie around his throat; his eyes silently cried for help when he noticed Bakura standing in the entrance way.

Bakura sighed and helped him undo the perplexing knot, avoiding eye contact.

“Are you _supposed_ to asphyxiate yourself with this thing?” Marik asked when Bakura guided the last loop of the tie over his head. “Like some kind of weird office kink.”

“You're _not_ into weird office sex?” Bakura asked sarcastically, laying the tie back around Marik's shoulders. He put on a how-to video and shushed Marik every time he tried to talk over the tutorial. After a couple tries, he fixed the tie perfectly, for the most part, around Marik's neck.

“Excellent! Now my sex appeal has reached new heights. KaibaCorp employees won't be able to keep their hands off of me,” Marik announced. “Now I can do yours.”

In that moment, Bakura had quickly grabbed his own tie and began tying it on himself, eying Marik so as to say, “Thanks but no thanks.”

When he had finished, he returned to the bathroom and pulled out Marik's hair gel. Even he knew that his signature bat-wing hairstyle would be a giveaway to anyone at KaibaCorp who had seen him before. He pulled the length of his hair back into a low ponytail and smoothed out his bangs. “Let the show begin,” he muttered, double checking that his hair looked all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They told me, "Write what you know."  
> And I know Golden Girls trivia and Yu-Gi-Oh Abridged.
> 
> Have a great week! Chapter 3 coming soon!


	3. Frustration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup! Another week, another chapter. I'm sorry this one took longer than I originally promised. This last week was rough. That, and I needed a couple more editing sessions than usual. Quality control, gotta love it! If you aren't already, feel free to follow my blog on Tumblr, banana-ghoul, where I post updates related to my fanfictions as well as anime stuff. Anyway, let's get to the KaibaCorp hijinks!

When Marik finished slicking his hair back, he was surprised by a pair of sunglasses thrown his way as he exited the bathroom. “Oh c'mon, Bakura, I can only get so sexy. The KaibaCorp crew might not be able to contain their orgasms.”

“Put those on already, we were supposed to leave five minutes ago.” Bakura slid his pair of sunglasses on and leaned back against their kitchen counter, arms folded. “And do turn off the television. I really don't need to see reruns of Lifetime movies.”

Marik sighed obnoxiously, leaving the bathroom and searching for the channel changer. “But it's the 1996 film  _ Foxfire _ , featuring Angelina Jolie—just look at how powerful these women are!”

Bakura rolled his eyes and glanced at the clock. “Let's go.”

“You're stressing me out, Bakura!”

“And you're frustrating me.”

He located the remote and turned the TV off, placing it on the coffee table by the sofa.

They departed not long after, looking much cooler than they did earlier that morning. The air felt colder outside, and an icy breeze swept across them. Marik readjusted his sunglasses and hummed to himself. Bakura's blood pumped hot in his veins, ready to begin his sweet retribution. He fingered the access card in his pocket, humming a song of his own.

“What ever happened to those two employees from earlier?” Marik asked suddenly, shivering against another cold gust of wind.

“Not important,” Bakura replied simply. When they had finished their interrogation, he had dismissed Marik; told him to return home with one of the suits and that he would be joining him shortly. “Don't give me that look—I went easy on them. Mostly.”

“When do  _ I _ get to be the badass?” Marik's eyebrows raised a small distance above his glasses.

Bakura stifled a laugh. “The moment you stop using sex toys as weapons.”

“I washed my hands!” Marik held up his hands. “Go ahead and smell them, I used that lilac soap we have.”

“I'd prefer not,” Bakura returned, trying desperately to keep from smiling. Any feeling apart from neutrality and anger felt distant and uncomfortable to him. He mostly blamed any emotional outbursts on Ryou, though Ryou didn't have much to do with it, aside from having an expressive face. He had a good handle on keeping any of Ryou's input buried deep in the back of his mind. Sleep seemed to be the only place his thoughts could reach him, if they had the chance to. He tried to avoid sleep as best as he could for this reason.

Before they knew it, they were back in the heart of Domino City, staring up at the KaibaCorp building. This time they weren't as worried about being spotted. “Didn't he say we could enter through the rear?” Marik asked, only to be answered with a hearty laugh from Bakura. “I don't get what's so funny about taking the back entrance,” he added defensively. Bakura only continued to laugh.

“Remember your number?” Bakura asked as they reached the employee entrance, a bland door flanked by a swipe entry lock.

“91485?” Marik looked down at his own access card and was delighted to find that he was right. They had learned from the employee they questioned that names were only used on official paperwork at KaibaCorp, especially for interns. A  _ need-to-know basis _ is the term he had used for it. “I love having my individuality reduced to a number; it is very liberating,” Marik continued.

Bakura swiped his card quickly. “You know Kaiba. Boss of the year.”

A little LED by the swipe-entry blinked green and the door clicked. They both disappeared inside, their minds buzzing with excitement. They made their way through a maze of hallways, unsure of where exactly they should be at this point. “Stay cool,” Bakura whispered. “We work here, remember.”

Marik nodded, ready to make his acting debut.

They passed through a smelly employee locker room that seemed to be completely empty, and then an equally empty employee lounge. After a couple turns, they entered a small reception area where a couple other employees stood, talking with each other.

In that moment, Marik walked ahead of Bakura and approached two employees by the far left wall. “Yes, hello, I too am a perfectly normal KaibaCorp employee slave.”

Bakura froze mid-stride, wishing he could pull Marik out of the room and ask him what the hell he was doing without looking suspicious.

“You new here?” one of the employees, a taller man wearing square framed prescription glasses and a terrible comb-over asked. When he unfroze, Bakura paced toward them, arm naturally outstretched to Marik as if to take him away, but he stayed his hand.

Marik put a hand on his hip, shifting his weight to one side. “Do I look like a newb to you? I am a well seasoned slave, unlike my counterpart here. Any idea where all the other little ducklings are gathering?”

The other employee, a blond man who was much stockier than his coworker, folded his arms, looking Marik up and down suspiciously. This time Bakura's hand grazed Marik's arm, ready to peel out of there. Finally, the man spoke, “Nice shades you got there.”

“Thanks, they're Gucci,” Marik responded.

The bespectacled employee gestured his head toward a corridor at the back of the room. “They're all doing simulation training.”

“Excellent! Don't worry, Bak—50992,” he nudged Bakura in the side. “I'll help you find where you're supposed to be.” The pair made their way across the room, Bakura moving robotically beside Marik. “See, Bakura,” Marik whispered. “All those nights of watching Lifetime movies have turned me into the perfect actor.”

Bakura drew in a deep breath, taking advantage of his sunglasses by rolling his eyes without notice. He had to admit, Marik didn't do too bad of a job, but he made a complete ass out of himself. He silently hoped that things would go a little more smoothly once they blended in with the rest of the new-hires. “Now where are we supposed to go?” Bakura hissed when their path diverged.

“This way,” Marik replied, turning right and heading up a set of stairs.

“How do you figure?” Bakura asked, trying to keep up.

Marik shrugged and smiled excitedly. “I really have no idea what I'm doing.”

Surprisingly, after climbing a couple flights, they found a door with the words “DUEL SIMULATION ROOM 1” painted across the front. They glanced to each other before Bakura touched the handle. “Whatever you do, Marik, care to not make a  _ complete  _ fool of yourself.”

As he pulled the door open, Marik's voice rang out audibly through the small control room, “Well, that was a little insensitive of you!” The small group huddled inside looked curiously in their direction. “We're not late, are we? We had a  _ really _ good lunch,” Marik added when he noticed their stares.

A brown haired man in a lab coat stood with his back to the glass viewing panel, glancing at his wrist watch. “Twenty six minutes late, to be exact.” He eyed the two harshly. “What are your numbers?”

“50992,” Bakura answered promptly, keeping a cool tone to his voice.

“91485.”

The instructor looked to a clipboard lying on a control panel to his left. “This is the second strike for you two. Next time you'll have garbage duty.”

Marik nearly let out an immature laugh. “Doody,” he murmured under his breath.

“What was that?”

“He was apologizing, sir,” Bakura answered. “Please continue.”

With that, the group turned their attention back to the instructor. There were around eight of them squished into that room together. The man in the white coat marked something down on his clipboard and then cleared his throat. “As I was saying: Master Kaiba utilizes the duel simulation room you can see ahead of you to test out new programs as well as dueling strategies. You won't be in here often, but it's good to get a sense of the kind of work we do here. Since Master Kaiba hasn't begun yet, we can go over some of the functions of these read-out monitors.”

The instructor clicked around on the computer and eventually pulled up a window full of randomly colored bars that slid back and forth across the screen. “These bars indicate the power level of the cards being played.”

A single hand rose up from the center of the group. “If there are no cards in play, why are they moving?”

“They also indicate no power at all,” the instructor continued, eying the trainee as if his question was out of the ordinary. “The wiring in this room is also kind of faulty, so if the monitor starts smoking and sparking, that indicates  _ great _ power. Of course, as you know from signing your OSHA waivers, KaibaCorp will not be held liable for any work related injuries such as electrocution.”

He leaned back against the side of the control panel beside the read-out monitor and held up a headset. “This is what we use to communicate with anyone inside the test room.”

Marik leaned over to his roommate and whispered: “Bakura, I have to pee.”

“Not now, Marik. I told you to go before we left.”

“I didn't have to go then—Don't tell me you're actually interested in this,” Marik muttered, not even pretending to keep his eyes focused on the instructor.

“Unlike you, I'm trying to blend in with these fools.” Bakura kept his voice so low it was barely audible. “You're just going to have to hold it.”

“ _ Just hold it,  _ that's like, like, asking me to not be evil.”

Suddenly they both realized the room had gone silent. “Is there a problem back there?” the instructor asked, eyes set on the two of them.

Bakura quickly spoke up. “Oh, no, we were just admiring this over-the-top card game simulator you have going on here.”

“It  _ is _ state of the art,” the instructor replied, turning around to face the test room. He set his headset down and continued droning on about the mechanics of the simulation software.

Just as Bakura felt himself falling asleep, the door behind him abruptly slid open. “What is this, a cult meeting?” Kaiba's voice asked, unamused.

Bakura and Marik nearly jumped out of their skin, but both kept their eyes forward, afraid to look directly at their new boss. If Kaiba recognized them, their plan was a goner.

The instructor whirled around. “ _ Simulation training _ , Master Kaiba—we discussed it this morning.”

“That's nice,” Kaiba replied. He moved past the small group and grabbed a headset hanging by the test room entrance. “If you don't mind, I'll be doing grown-up things.”

And with that, Kaiba entered the test room, shuffling his deck. Despite the room being mostly soundproof, they could just make out the simulator starting up from the instructor's headset. Kaiba managed to summon a Blue Eyes White Dragon on his first turn.

As the fellow new-hires in front of them looked on with enchantment, Marik and Bakura couldn't mask their boredom. Kaiba played another Blue Eyes, and though his voice was barely audible, it was obvious he was shouting the card names dramatically as he played each one.

Bakura leaned toward Marik. “Imagine being so obsessed with winning a single card game, you use your wealth to build an incredibly complicated card game simulator.”

“He's almost as obsessed with Yugi as you are,” Marik replied, shifting his weight from side to side in an attempt to keep his bladder from releasing.

“It's the pharaoh I'm concerned with, not his vessel,” just as Bakura finished his statement, Kaiba played his third Blue Eyes. Bakura could hardly contain his eye-roll. He adjusted his sunglasses and leaned back against the door behind him.

“Do you think Kaiba hires someone to starch his jackets for him?” Marik whispered, looking at Bakura over the frames of his glasses.

Amused, Bakura grinned. “I'm sure he doesn't do it himself.”

“He probably fires anyone that doesn't make it stiff enough.”

Bakura struggled to hold back his usual immature laugh, which translated into an awkwardly suppressed smirk.

“Oh, c'mon, it wasn't that funny.” Marik kept his voice low.

“How  _ stiff _ do you think he likes it?”

Marik heaved a sigh. “Geez, Bakura. You starch things when you want them to get hard. I've done it before—stop giving me that look!”

“Is there a problem back there?” The instructor asked again, an edge to his voice this time.

Bakura and Marik didn't dare look at each other. “I was asking where the bathroom is,” Marik finally said when the instructor had raised his eyebrows impatiently.

“You were just on your lunch break,” he stated, folding his arms.

“I didn't have to go then—why does everyone say this?” Marik replied defensively.

The man picked up his clipboard again and marked something down. “That's it. You'll both be taking out garbage tomorrow. If I hear one more word today, you'll be dismissed.”

The room grew silent again, and this time Marik and Bakura watched Kaiba's silly duel against the simulator for the rest of the time they spent in there. Marik continued to do his potty dance until they were finally let out to do some shadowing around the office. Both of them were split up for quite some time.

As he watched some lifeless drone plug meaningless numbers into a computer, Bakura managed to swipe a map off of him. He couldn't help but wonder how Marik was doing without his supervision. Probably raving to some poor KaibaCorp slave about Golden Girls and who his favorite characters are.

 

“So, he was all like, 'I don't even care for the Lifetime Channel,' and I couldn't even believe what he was saying—that's like... that's like admitting you tried on a thong and  _ didn't _ like it. It's just unfathomable,” Marik waved his hands wildly as he described his time shadowing at the end of their first day. He and Bakura walked through the darkened streets of Domino City, heading back home.

Bakura scoffed. “You've worn a thong?”

“I thought everybody does,” Marik looked genuinely bewildered. “Remember that one time I showed you my purple one?”

“You're thinking of the wrong fanfiction, Marik,” Bakura muttered, though the thought of Marik's tight ass in a thong gave him rather dark desires.

“Well, anyway,” Marik continued, side-eying Bakura, “I made sure to give him some good show recommendations. He seemed interested enough, I mean with the way he continually glanced down at his phone.”

The two of them rounded a corner and entered their apartment building, climbing the stairs to the third floor. “I can't wait to get this stupid outfit off,” Bakura remarked, tugging at his collar once more. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked their apartment door.

“You know, I didn't want to say anything in front of everyone, but your fly has been down, like,  _ all day _ ,” Marik said as they crossed the threshold, flipping the lights on.

Bakura felt the blood drain from his face, causing him to look more pale than usual. He looked down, and sure enough, his zipper was wide open. “I—I didn't—It must have,” he turned around to hide the look on his face. “You didn't need to look down there,” he stammered, unsure of how to process embarrassment.

Marik shrugged as he opened the refrigerator, glancing around at the contents within. “It's hard not to when those pants grip  _ your stuff _ the way they do.”

This time Bakura couldn't handle the feeling that had come over him. He stomped over to his bedroom where he stripped down to his boxers, relieved as he took off the constricting outfit, and replaced it with sweatpants and a T-shirt. Though he was embarrassed, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing Marik had looked at him that way. He helplessly wondered if Marik liked what he saw. He fantasized about all the moments Marik might have looked at his crotch, the same way Bakura stole glances of Marik's on a daily basis.

Shaking away the dirty thoughts, he left his bedroom and walked back down the hallway. However, when he entered the living room, he was surprised to find Marik thoughtlessly undressing as he watched TV from the kitchen. Bakura came to a halt, heart pounding in his head. Marik's undershirt was unbuttoned almost all the way to the bottom, his chest exposed with the black tie hanging down against it. His pants were unfastened and his hands hovered over the zipper as his eyes focused on the sitcom playing. Seemingly unaware of Bakura's presence.

Slowly, as if to taunt him, Bakura heard the sound of Marik's fly unzipping. A tantalizing sound to someone who had spent so many hours desiring the treasure that lay beneath. He couldn't control his thoughts this time. There was no going back. No amount of digging his fingernails into his palms or biting his tongue or thinking of something grossly nonsexual was going to turn this situation around. His hunger had peaked. His eyes focused in on the bare, dark skin of Marik's chest, feverishly desiring to run his tongue across it.

“See, this is one of the shows I recommended earlier; it's a classic—Bakura?”

Bakura had turned on his heels and slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He swiftly tugged his pants and underwear down, exposing his erection, which was completely engorged at this point. It throbbed in his cold hand and he rubbed it desperately, almost violently. Precum soaked the tip and dribbled across his fingers. He leaned back against the wall across from the toilet as he pleasured himself.

He swore under his breath as his arousal grew, his heart chugging in his ears all the while. He thought of Marik's chest again, and how he yearned to rake his teeth against the skin of Marik's neck, to listen to Marik's gasps and groans, to grind into his hips. Bakura couldn't restrain his own mild moans as he imagined Marik’s thick shaft inside of him. He relaxed his neck and rolled his head back in enjoyment, eyes shut and mouth agape. Sex was a pleasure he hadn't experienced in so many years, and since he had met Marik, it was something he craved deep within his core. He craved it just as he craved the Millennium Ring. So close he could taste it, yet so far away it clenched his cold heart.

He grabbed a few sheets of toilet paper with his free hand, feeling his climax just on the horizon. He wanted Marik's lips on his dick; he wanted to see Marik's eyes looking up at him as he sucked and teased it. He wanted Marik. He wanted him more than he had wanted anyone before. Before he had a chance to process it, Bakura came into the toilet paper he had in his hand. He panted quietly and laid most of his weight against the wall, legs weak.

“Everything okay in there, Bakura? Breakfast didn't settle well with me, either,” Marik's voice chimed from the other side of the door.

“N-No, nope, I'll be out in a moment,” he responded as he cleaned himself, hands shaky.

“Oh, excellent. They're playing  _ The Craigslist Killer  _ again, so hurry up in there.”

“Will do, Marik.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexually frustrated Bakura is my bread and butter  
> Seeya next weekend!


	4. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Hope you've had a good week. Before I get things started, just wanted to give a big thanks to everyone who has read, left feedback, shared this story with others, etc. We're only on the fourth chapter, but I have a feeling this fic is going to go far. Your support this early on means a lot to me. Forreal! I get all these warm and fuzzies just thinking about it owo

Early morning Domino City functioned much like any other metropolis of its kind. Cars clogged the main streets, salary workers glanced at their watches eagerly as they strode through the sidewalks, small shops flipped their OPEN signs, and the warm scent of coffee filled the air, mingling precariously with the thick stench of car exhaust. However, what set Domino apart from any other city in the world was the looming building that climbed as high into the sky as the eye could see. It caught the incoming rays of morning sunlight and reflected them harshly, appearing less like your typical edifice, and more like a glowing, burning Titan. It was the KaibaCorp Headquarters.

Though from the outside it appeared immaculate and fearsome, and there certainly were rooms and lobbies within that felt that same way, there were parts of the KaibaCorp building that were off limits to the general public. Accessible only to employees, and thus, not in the greatest shape. One of these rooms sat at the back of the building, farthest away from the offices majority of the employees worked in. Guarding it was a windowed metal door. Thick black text just below it spelled out WASTE DISPOSAL.

“Geez, Bakura, you'd think Kaiba would have hired janitors for this!” Marik groaned as he used all of his strength to lift an overfilled trash bag and toss it into the incinerator feed at the far wall of the room. All around them sat boxes and bags filled with smelly trash.

Bakura shook his head, having a hard time willing himself to so much as touch one of the bags. “Oh, but, Marik, he has the next best thing: unpaid interns, desperate for something to add to their resumes.”

“Why are we even doing this? It's not like anyone's watching,” Marik replied, folding his arms.

“We're blending in, remember?” Bakura responded simply. “They said we can collect trash from other areas on this floor once we clear this wretched room—we'll finally have the opportunity to explore.”

Marik nodded and picked up another garbage bag. “This reminds me of that one time we went dumpster diving for some sweet weapons and I found a dildo. Remember that, Bakura?”

“That was yesterday,” Bakura grunted.

“Ha ha! And you slapped the dildo out of my hand!”

“Yes, yes, I was there.”

Bakura finally grabbed a bag full of who-knows-what and tossed it through the incinerator door. As much as he loathed working under Kaiba and touching his trash, there was something satisfying in watching things burn. If only he had the pharaoh's rotten corpse... He could just imagine the thrill of casting it into the pyre; of doing to the pharaoh what had been done thousands of years ago to his own family. He could still remember the smell of burning flesh; the anger and fear that had roused in his gut. A flame blistering enough to burn for three thousand years.

“Bakura, you have that murderous look on your face again,” Marik spoke up, jarring Bakura from his vengeful thoughts. “Either that or you're tired—I really can't tell the difference.”

Bakura lifted a cardboard box filled with smaller cardboard boxes and fed it in, hot air biting his skin before he shut the small door. “Well, sleep was damn near impossible with the TV blaring all night.”

“What are you talking about? I slept like a baby.”

“Of course  _ you _ did,” Bakura said, more amused than annoyed. “You have a perfectly good room to sleep in, yet you choose the couch instead.”

“My room doesn't have a TV in it.”

Marik's room was adjacent to Bakura's, sharing a single wall, though it was easy to forget since Marik rarely spent time in it and usually left the door closed. At most it contained a bed and dresser, filled with Marik's midriff-revealing shirts. The bed remained untouched since the day they brought their TV home, a week or so after moving in. Save for the times Marik thought it would be fun to jump on it.

But Bakura knew he would rather the TV be out in the living room. It would have been much louder coming from the next room over. Not that Marik's room had a cable hook-up, anyway. “I guess that's fair,” Bakura replied.

“ _ Anyway _ , I watched this movie last night after you went to bed. I think it was called  _ Bareback Mountain _ , or something,” Marik spoke as he loaded yet another bag into the incinerator.

Bakura nearly choked on his own saliva. “I think you mean  _ Brokeback Mountain _ .”

“That's what I said,” Marik replied defensively. “It contained a disappointing lack of mountains.”

“Ah, yes, I can see how that would be a bit of a let-down.” Bakura smirked. “What did you think of the gay romance?”

Marik fumbled with the bag in his hands and looked at Bakura, dumbfounded. “Gay romance? I didn't notice that part.”

Bakura raised his eyebrows. “They had sex. And kissed, multiple times.”

“Oh, I guess they did,” Marik furrowed his brow, thinking back to it. “I figured they were just being friends—you know, how friends do 'favors' for each other without  _ actually  _ being gay.”

Bakura couldn't help but roll his eyes and toss another bag into the incinerator feed.

By the time they cleared out the rest of the room, it was time for their lunch break. Outside, the air was colder than earlier that morning as sharp gusts of wind tore through the city. “I miss Egypt,” Marik mused as he stood in the KaibaCorp vestibule, looking out through the glass doors. “It was always warm there—I miss out on my tanning sessions nearly every day here. It's very troubling.”

“It's almost winter. It's not like this every day. Now let's get going,” Bakura responded, absentmindedly grabbing Marik's sleeve.

“The wind is going to ruin my hair,” Marik gave him a look that could only be described as  _ sad, cute puppy _ .

Bakura sighed heavily and could feel himself softening up more than usual. “Fine. What do you want?”

“Oh, I thought you would never ask. I was thinking something light but filling enough to get me through the day—maybe something crunchy? I'm not sure really--”

“You're getting a sandwich.” And with that, Bakura stepped out into the streets by himself, flinching against the sudden onslaught of wind. He could sense a storm approaching slowly but steadily. Tiny dots of rain speckled the sidewalks, but nothing torrential yet. Soon, though. He could feel it.

It didn't take him long before he returned with a couple pre-made sandwiches and bottles of water. He found Marik in the lobby next to another employee, a taller guy with gelled brown hair, debating loudly about the importance of Dorothy's character in Golden Girls.

Once Bakura cleared his throat, Marik looked up through his sunglasses. It was obvious he was quite flustered beneath them. “Ohhh, 50992, please explain to this fellow mindless drone that Dorothy's sense of humor is second to none.” He looked back and forth between Bakura and the employee he spoke with, who seemed particularly annoyed.

“I do enjoy her sarcasm,” Bakura responded, his stomach turning uncomfortably. He knew that his compliment directed toward Marik's favorite show would mean more viewing sessions than usual. This was surely Marik's dream.

Before Marik could respond, Bakura touched his arm. “Now, if you're finished, can we eat?”

**

“Bak—50992, we already got the garbage from over there,” Marik's voice was filled with what had to be exhaustion. After another couple hours of taking out trash, both him and Bakura were at their wit's end, ready to call it a day. However, when Marik craned his neck around the corner he saw Bakura at the end of the corridor peeking his head through a door to the stairwell. One of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling above flickered rapidly. “Where are you going?”

Without saying a word, Bakura gestured for Marik to follow.

“Why does this remind me of The Shining?”

“Shhh,” Bakura hissed. When Marik reached him, they both entered the stairwell. A cold, mostly concrete shaft that seemed to extend as far up and as far down as they could make out. Bakura pulled a folded sheet of paper out from his pocket. “I stole this map yesterday—it shows rooms and floors they haven't even told us about yet. This may be our ticket.”

Marik looked curiously at the map as Bakura unfurled it. The 11x17 sheet displayed the layout of sub-levels 3 through 5. Restricted areas, no doubt. From the map, they looked to be rather spacious. Fit perfectly for secret dueling arenas, far away enough from the rest of KaibaCorp that the general public wouldn't have a clue of how to find them. “Which one of these do you think is the freaky sex dungeon?” Marik asked, eyes lit with excitement as he looked over the floor plans.

“Considering the level of stimulation Kaiba gets from card games, they all might as well be,” Bakura answered. After glancing around them to make sure the coast was clear, he quietly stepped toward the set of descending stairs a few feet away. Every flight or so, they both stopped and listened for any following footsteps, but heard none.

Soon enough they came to a landing with B3 painted on the wall. A single door with blacked out glass and a swipe-entry lock stood in their way. Bakura tried the handle. “No good,” he muttered. “If we swipe to get in, they're going to know who's been down here.”

“Let's try the next one, then,” Marik said, foot already planted on the first step of the next descending staircase.

“They're probably just the same,” Bakura replied, resting his back against the adjoining wall. “We need another way of getting in. I want to know what's on the other side of these doors.” He shuddered for a moment, drawing in a harsh breath.

Marik swiveled from his position on the stairs, returning to the same landing Bakura stood on. He assessed the swipe-entry lock inquisitively. “I'm telling you, they're probably weird porno dungeons, full of Blue Eyes love dolls or some—Bakura?” Marik froze in place when he turned his head.

Bakura's legs were trembling, and his eyes grew dull; gaze distant. He slid down the wall until he sat on the cold concrete below, breaths hitching.

“Bakura, is this a joke? You've never been good at these,” Marik said, though his voice quivered as much as Bakura's body. He glanced around uncomfortably, an all too familiar feeling of dread welling in his stomach. “C'mon,  _ I'm _ the one that plays pranks— _ Bakura. _ ”

Finally Marik knelt down in front of him, his heart pumping rapidly. He touched Bakura's shoulders and shook them harder than he intended. Bakura's head fell forward, eyes still wide and staring at nothing.

“ _ Oh no _ , _ oh no, oh no, _ ” Marik's voice squeaked. Visions of memories he had intentionally blacked out ran through his mind. His dead father; his comatose brother. “Bakura, this isn't funny, this really isn't funny.”

_ Tap tap tap tap _ .

Footsteps came from far above, descending the stairs quickly.

Marik's hands shook. He leaned in and pressed his head against Bakura's chest. It was dull, but he could just make out a heartbeat.

The footsteps grew closer, and no matter how many times he shook Bakura's shoulders, he wasn't coming to.

**_Tap tap tap tap_ ** _. _

Marik's intuition took over. Before he knew what he was doing, he hoisted Bakura's unconscious form up and into his arms, and stumbled down the next set of stairs, his arms quaking under Bakura's weight.

It wasn't enough. For every single set of stairs he descended, his pursuer descended twice as many. He wasn't sure where he was going. All he knew was they couldn't be caught, especially like this.

B5. The footsteps were too close. Without thinking, Marik stumbled into the next door, trying the handle, and as fate would have it, it opened to a pitch dark room. He dropped Bakura to the ground once inside and swiftly shut the door behind them.

He stood against the wall, staring into nothing but blackness, hearing only his own sharp breaths and pounding heart.

Whoever had been descending the stairs passed the door and continued down. Marik let out an exasperated breath.

“Nnhh,” Bakura's voice sounded. A wave of relief set over Marik as he grasped for the door to let light in from the stairwell. He didn't care or think to look at the room they found safety in. “Marik... Marik, what's going on?”

“You—you—I don't know—you played the worst prank  _ ever, _ ” his voice cracked. He used his body to hold the door open.

Bakura sat up instantly, glancing all around. His eyes had their shine back to them. The room felt like it was spinning around him.“Did—Was I sleeping?”

“ _ I don't know, Bakura, why don't you tell me? _ ”

Bakura used the wall to help himself stand, though it was obvious his legs were still weak. He then realized he was inside what looked like the original room they couldn't access. “ _ You got in? _ ” His voice was incredulous.

“Different floor—Listen, we don't have time for this. There's someone else here with us,” Marik's voice was different than usual. Panicked.

From the urgency of his words, Bakura knew they needed to get out of there quickly. When he felt balanced and the room stopped spinning so quickly, they both ascended the stairs, heading toward the main floor they came from. When they finally reached it, they were delighted to see no other employees nearby.

“What in the name of Estelle Getty were you doing?” Marik questioned. Though the danger was gone, he still had trouble holding on to his stability.

“I really don't know what happened, will you calm down? We were trying to get into B3 and a moment later I was lying on the ground in B5.” When he noticed the look on Marik's face, his stomach churned. “Maybe we should go home. I bet Golden Girls will make you feel better.”

Marik paused, and then like magic a smile spread across his face. No signs of his previous apprehension. “I think the episode with the dog is on tonight.”

“Yes, you love that one,” Bakura responded, though he wasn't quite sure which episode Marik was referring to. He himself couldn't quite settle his feelings. Something foreboding nagged at the back of his mind, but he wasn't about to let it show.

**

The rain picked up on their way home. It came down in sheets by the time they reached their apartment building. Drenched and exhausted, they climbed the stairs to their floor. They could hear the TV playing through the door, like a third roommate welcoming them home.

Marik took his usual place on the couch, singing  _ Thank You For Being a Friend _ as loudly as ever. Bakura changed into more comfortable clothes and entered the living room, taking a seat beside Marik as he flipped through the channels and complained about the guy he had argued with earlier. “So, not only did he say he didn't like Golden Girls—but he said Dorothy was the reason he didn't like it. I couldn't just let him have his own,  _ incorrect,  _ opinion. What a real loser, am I right?”

“Yes, an absolute imbecile,” Bakura said, relaxing back against the couch, trying to clear his head. Outside, the wind howled and rain rushed against the window in heaves.

Just as Marik reached the appropriate channel, the lights flickered dramatically, causing the two to glance at each other in surprise. “Uh-oh,” Bakura hummed. “It might be best if we find a couple torches.”

“Does this look like medieval Europe, Bakura? What we really need are a couple flashlights.”

“That's what I said, you nitwit.”

“No, you said  _ torches _ .”

Bakura sighed heavily. “ _ It's the same thing _ .”

And suddenly, the lights cut out. The TV turned to black. Rain grew heavier against the window.

“Oh, bollocks,” Bakura groaned.

“What happened? Am I blind?” Marik cried from his side of the couch.

Bakura glanced in his direction, putting all his effort into a dramatic eye-roll. “Yes, Marik, you've gone blind and I've finally overthrown the pharaoh.”

“...Was that sarcasm?”

“Do you really need to ask me that?”

After some fumbling around, Bakura finally located at least one flashlight, a tiny LED one. He gave it to Marik, who seemed the most troubled by their situation. “What are we supposed to do now?” Marik asked as he clicked the light on and off.

“Well, I'm tired enough to go to bed early,” Bakura said, standing from the couch and making his way toward the hall. “Maybe you should, too.”

“But, I can't watch TV,” Marik whined.

“Oh, you're fine. You can finally sleep in your actual bed. Doesn't that sound nice?”

Marik didn't respond, only nodded, despite Bakura not being able to see him. “Good night,” he muttered.

“Good night,” Bakura responded, stepping down the hall and into his bedroom.

**

Bakura roused suddenly in the complete darkness, his breaths short and quick. He gripped his own chest, swearing that for a split second he could feel the Millennium Ring there, but no matter how hard he dug his fingernails into his skin, he found nothing. He cursed, realizing another one of Ryou's dreams had visited him that night. They were unsightly little things that left a dreadful taste in his mouth. He rarely had these visions back when he possessed the Ring, but since the events of Battle City, his and Ryou's dreams became intertwined, like some kind of sick torture device.

He turned onto his side, clenching his jaw. However, something caught his eye in the doorway. A mere shape amongst the shadows.

“Marik, what are you doing?”

“It's too quiet,” Marik whispered. “It's scaring me.”

Bakura exhaled quietly and sat up, instinctively reaching for his lamp but staying his hand when he remembered the power outage. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“I haven't slept,” Marik replied. “I can't.”

“Well, I can't do much about the TV,” Bakura reasoned, his voice still groggy. “Did you want to talk?”

“Can I get in bed with you?”

Bakura's cheeks burned when he heard those words. He swallowed hard and nodded before finally verbally consenting. He wasn't sure if this was another dream. He moved toward the edge of the bed along the wall, allowing Marik room beside him. Marik climbed under the sheets, icy feet clashing against Bakura's, and settled on his side. “Sorry.”

“It—it's no problem,” Bakura stammered. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands so he kept them at his sides, staring straight up at the ceiling.

Marik's breaths tickled Bakura's shoulders. Goosebumps ran up his arms as he took in the situation.

“It reminds me of the tomb,” Marik whispered. “Dark and quiet. _ So _ quiet.”

Bakura felt lulled by the sound of Marik's voice, as haunting as it was at this volume.

He silently listened as Marik continued, his voice akin to a drunkard with a story to tell. “I know  _ he's  _ gone now. I know I vanquished him with Yugi's help. But I still feel him. All the time. I still remember how his voice sounded in my head... I thought he was going to come back today.”

“When?” Bakura asked, turning to face Marik. This time Marik's breaths tickled his nose.

“When you died.”

“I didn't die,” Bakura said, his stomach turning into a pit of ice. “I—I don't know what I did.”

Marik huffed, the edge of his hair slightly visible in the darkness. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Okay.”

“I really meant it when I said Dorothy is a good character,” Marik picked back up, voice becoming more like his usual. “She's not as fun as everyone else, but her jokes are always the funniest.”

Bakura felt a smile creep onto his face. “Yes, she really is a good character.”

Marik pulled himself into a fetal position, his face drawing nearer to Bakura's. “My favorite jokes are the ones where she picks on Blanche.”

“I like those ones, too,” Bakura whispered, his arms relaxing. Slowly, their eyes both closed, foreheads touching, breaths in sync. Rain softly tapped at the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoohoooooo I wrote this chapter in a single day (today)  
> Seeya next week! Feel free to leave a comment or find me on Tumblr if you wanna chat :D


	5. Security

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm sorry I'm posting this a bit later than usual. I've had a lot on my plate lately and my mental health comes first. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and sharing this story with others, whether that be through Tumblr or just recommending it to your friends. Your support keeps me motivated.

It was the most warmth Bakura had felt in years. Centuries, maybe.

Lying on his side, his eyes fluttered open for a brief moment. Pale light filtered through the blinds, casting an eerie glow across his bedroom. It couldn't have been any later than seven in the morning.

More than anything, it was the silence that stood out to him. Alarming, in a way. No early morning infomercial, no weather forecaster listing the highs and lows for the day, no reruns of sitcoms or cartoons playing in the living room.

Hot breaths rushed against the back of Bakura's neck, slow and heavy. For a moment it was surprising, but he recalled the events that played out earlier in the night. He could have sworn it was all a dream—but even he knew he couldn't remember his dreams.

Marik's arm rested around his ribcage; legs entwined with his own—morning wood pressed firmly against Bakura's buttcrack. He couldn't mask the look on his face.

Bakura would be the first to admit he had a waking erection as well, but it wasn't nearly as hard as Marik's—though it was getting there. He swallowed, wondering if Marik was awake, but as if on cue, Marik began to snore softly into the back of Bakura's neck. His heart danced in his chest.

He didn't want to move. He couldn't. Marik wasn't letting him. Marik's arm was a vise-grip, and his legs held him in place.

Frozen there, he couldn't control his thoughts. An intense urge to touch himself while Marik was asleep. He carefully reached his hand into his pants and hovered at the base of his dick. The thrill was too much. He yearned to release the built up tension in anyway possible. His erection throbbed as he felt Marik's twitch against his ass.

Just as he brushed the shaft with his fingertips, Marik inhaled deeply, adjusting his position. He somehow managed to draw closer to Bakura, mouth now at the side of his neck. His sleepy breaths burning his skin. “Bakura...,” he mumbled. Goosebumps raised along Bakura's arms.

Without warning, Marik began lightly grinding his hips against his roommate. His morning wood slid across Bakura's ass through their sweatpants. Bakura stared wide-eyed at the wall, his heart racing; hands frozen in place.

He wanted to find out if Marik was awake, but he couldn't find the courage to turn his head. Bakura cleared his throat, but Marik didn't give any sort of response; only continued to softly rock his hips back and forth.

Bakura's dick was rock hard; his breathing erratic. He wished hopelessly that Marik would wake up and just put it in. He needed the release. A soft groan accidentally slipped from Bakura's lips, and he froze, surprised by the sound.

As if on cue, Marik's fingers trailed down Bakura's stomach, inching closer and closer to the tent he had pitched. Bakura's mind was muddled with arousal. He instinctively bucked back against Marik's half-hearted thrusts, biting his lower lip. He so badly wanted to believe he was being fucked. He craved for it.

Marik's hand grew dangerously close to Bakura's crotch. He begged for it in his mind, his toes curled. He would have given anything to feel this way for the rest of his life. He closed his eyes, waiting impatiently for the sensation of Marik's hand on his crotch, even if it was through his clothes.

Marik's fingertips slid across Bakura's pubic bone.

And Bakura came.

Pleasure turned into absolute horror.

Bakura hadn't intended for it to happen—he didn't even feel like he was that close. But, it was happening. Thick, liquid disappointment soaked the inside of his sweatpants. His eyes were as wide as they were when Marik first started grinding on him.

Marik's hand was still there, sleepily resting in place. Out of shock, Bakura violently jerked his body away, cringing at the wetness that had spread in his pants.

Marik stirred just then, his eyes opening quickly. He looked up at Bakura, brow furrowed. “Bakura, I'm thirsty,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Bakura only continued to gape at his roommate.

“You should have told me you're a kicker; I wouldn't have slept with you,” Marik rolled onto his other side, pulling the covers up over his shoulder. “Ha. Slept with you. You know what I meant. Good night.”

Bakura could only think about the mess in his pants. He carefully sat up and then stumbled out of bed, tripping across Marik's ankles along the way.

As he cleaned himself off in the bathroom and chucked his cum-drenched pants into the washing machine, their morning alarm chimed. Bakura ran a hand through his hair, feeling like he had been hit by a truck. He stayed by the washing machine, looking through a basket of their clean laundry for something else to wear.

**

“Today we will be doing several security walks through KaibaCorp, both inside and outside of the building. With the upcoming televised tournament, we need security to be at its maximum. That means daily and nightly checks,” droned a fellow employee wearing sunglasses. He stood at the head of their small group just outside of the KaibaCorp main entrance.

Bakura felt more exhausted than usual. It was something he noticed upon getting ready for work that morning. He wasn't used to this feeling. It was as if a weight was placed on his chest, and his his eyelids didn't have the strength to hold themselves open. Every minute felt like an hour. Marik, however, was as perky as ever.

“Now, I have an important question,” Marik raised his hand as he spoke. “When is our snack break?”

The instructor glanced at his wristwatch. “Lunch is in approximately four hours.”

Marik went to reply, but Bakura touched his forearm. “Not now,” he whispered, keeping his gaze forward.

The instructor continued, “I'll have you all split into pairs since we have an even number here. Each of you will be assigned a location to patrol.”

Marik and Bakura stayed close to each other as the other members in their group glanced around awkwardly, looking for someone semi-decent to spend their morning with.

“Oh no, there's no way you two are pairing up,” the instructor sighed as he looked on at Bakura and Marik, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Switch, now.”

“I know what you're thinking,” Marik said before Bakura could speak up. “But I've read  _ Fake,  _ too, and it's nothing like that, you see, he's just British—“

“I'm telling you two to find different partners,” The instructor clarified, fists clenched.

Marik sighed melodramatically. “ _ Partners? _ Do I come off as gay to you?”

Bakura almost lost his composure in that moment. He could still remember the feeling of Marik's dick against his ass earlier that morning. Their instructor was at a loss for words.

“I'll have you know, I've only looked at a single butt in my entire life—well I guess two, if you count my own—But, the point is: I am not going to have sexual relations with that man while on patrol. I never said I was gay, not a single time; never. These allegations are  _ false _ , and I need to—“

“That's quite enough,” the instructor sighed. Everyone in the vicinity seemed to be staring in their direction. “I don't care anymore. Go do your security check by the loading bay.”

And with that, Marik and Bakura headed toward the back of the KaibaCorp building, a trip taking longer than it should have with Marik interpreting the map they were given. “You know, Bakura, this reminds me of that one time we were playing Minecraft and you kept losing.”

“I wasn't losing—you can't lose at Minecraft,” Bakura replied, folding his arms.

“Sounds a lot like something a loser would say,” Marik huffed. “Anyway, and you kept losing, so I was like ' _ Bakura, you're not even playing right. You're supposed to build a house and start a family and get a job'  _ and you told me to piss off, but I didn't; I just stayed there right next to you watching from over your shoulder—You didn't even use  _ motherlode  _ like I told you to.”

“I thought I explained that Minecraft and The Sims are different games, Marik,” Bakura responded, face forward but eyes on his partner.

“What good is a game if all you do is build things? I could do that in real life. You know what I  _ can't  _ do in real life? Tell people when to go to the bathroom.”

The two of them rounded the corner just then and came to a pair of double doors, each with a small square window in the center. LOADING BAY was painted across the front. An employee in a white coat came through the doors, looking Bakura and Marik up and down. “Are you two new here?”

For once, Bakura managed to speak before Marik could open his mouth. “Yes, we're doing the security check for the area.”

“Can I see your Access Cards?”

“More like can we see  _ your  _ Access Card, am I right?” Marik cut in, though he was met with an unamused glare from the employee. “It's funny because  _ we're  _ supposed to be the ones doing security things. Okay, fine, whatever.”

The employee looked over the two cards and handed them back. “It's only a precaution—I've heard rumors of someone breaking in under the guise of an employee. Can you believe that?”

“What kind of moronic moron would want to work here?” Marik responded, shifting his weight and putting his hand on his hip.

The employee laughed as if Marik was joking. “I have to get going, but keep a look out for any suspicious characters. There's a hatch by the third bay that always has me nervous. It's always letting in a draft.”

The employee dismissed himself, walking swiftly in the direction Bakura and Marik had come from. The corridor was mostly silent apart from his footsteps on the linoleum.

“So they're onto us,” Bakura muttered as he rested his weight against the left of the two doors.

“Are they? I didn't catch that.”

“He just said someone's broken in pretending to be an employee. I'd say we fit the bill,” Bakura responded.

Marik shrugged. “You must have no faith in my acting ability. If anything they probably think  _ you're  _ the guy because your acting is waaay below my level."

“I don't think they've pinpointed anyone yet, Marik. He said it was only a rumor—but the suspicion itself isn't a good sign.”

“Sounds like something an inferior actor would say,” Marik sniffed as he entered through the door on the right.

The loading bay was a warehouse combined with a receiving area. A long room of concrete floors and uninsulated walls, steel shelving to their backs and several over-head doors on the far wall ahead of them. Quite a ways down to their right, a couple employees maneuvered pallets filled with boxes.

“Seems pretty foxy to me,” Marik mumbled to no one in particular.

Bakura approached Marik's left side and looked out over the warehouse as well. He shivered. It couldn't have been any warmer than it was outside. Goosebumps raised across his skin.

At the far left of the loading bay was a control room surrounded mostly by glass. Inside were a few desks and computers, among an array of lights and control switches.

“So, what are we supposed to do now, just stand here?” Marik asked, tapping his foot.

“We use this to our advantage,” Bakura said as he strode toward the control room. Marik half-heartedly followed, the sound of the pallet-jack at the opposite end of the room surprising him every once in a while.

Once inside, Bakura's eyes scanned across several pages worth of information scattered on one of the desks. So as to not attract attention from anyone possibly looking in, he lightly slid a couple sheets less than an inch out of the way to expose a few more underneath. “Received orders, shipments, outgoing orders... Of course nothing regarding the event,” he muttered.

“You know, they really haven't mentioned much about that since we started,” Marik added. He hovered in the doorway, shifting his weight from his heels to his toes.

Bakura nodded while peeking into an open drawer. “If they suspect an imposter, it makes sense. We'll have to go deeper than just this,” he said. When he couldn't find anything of interest he sighed, jamming his hands into his pockets. “Let's continue our security walk, shall we?”

The two of them walked the length of the loading bay, supposedly checking under shelves and in crevices large enough for someone to fit themselves into. It might have seemed as if they were taking their roles seriously, but Bakura purposely spent as much of his time as close as he could get to the workers unloading boxes.

It didn't take long for them to pick up on an interesting conversation.

“Where are we putting all this shit?” one of the employees who had only recently joined in asked.

“71406 said we're bringing it to the basement,” another one replied. Bakura acted as if he were taking his leave with Marik in tow, but they rounded the corner by the door they had originally come through and waited there, continuing to eavesdrop.

“ _ Which  _ basement,” the original employee asked.

“I don't know. I gotta check the order details. Probably B6.”

“ _ B6 _ ?”

A different voice. “The tournament's gonna be down there somewhere. The higher-ups have been weird about the specifics.”

“Sounds to me like they're setting up a new space for it—just look at all these parts they ordered.”

Suddenly the employee in the white coat they encountered earlier pushed through, nearly smacking Marik in the face. He didn't seem to notice either of them as he entered the loading bay. “Hey, did I say it was break time? Let's get this stuff moving! C'mon, let's go!”

Bakura and Marik left just then. “We need to go back to the basement floors,” Bakura said quickly.

“Yeah, but how? Yesterday we moved trash around all day—today they actually expect us to do things,” Marik responded, trying to keep up with Bakura's pace.

“We'll have to do it over our lunch break, then,” Bakura whispered, unsure if anyone would was near enough to hear them as they turned an abrupt corner.

“Ohhh, c'mon!” Marik groaned. “I need sustenance!”

“We'll get pizza tonight.”

Marik paused, thinking his response through carefully. “...With mushrooms?”

“Sure, just keep those nasty things on your side.”

“...and breadsticks?”

“I guess,” Bakura replied.

“Can we get a cup of ranch dressing, too?”

“You're pushing it, Marik.”

**

Once lunch time rolled around and Marik's “tumbly was grumbly” the two of them ventured toward the stairwell they had visited the day before.

“...and it was funny because Blanche thought she said  _ Lebanese  _ when she really said  _ lesbian _ ! I can't tell you how many times I've made that mistake,” Marik said, though it seemed Bakura didn't hear much of it. “Bakuurraaaa.”

“Yes, yes, lesbians,” Bakura finally responded, feeling as if he had just woken up.

The came to the same entrance they were at yesterday right by the flickering light. At that point it seemed everyone was on their own lunch breaks, so the coast was mostly clear. They were allowed to travel between the first couple floors, so using the stairwell wasn't exactly prohibited.

Bakura paused upon entering, listening for any signs of life. All he heard in return was the haunting whooshing of the air conditioner that ran way too cool for an area made mostly of cement.

“Let's try our best to reach B6,” he whispered to Marik as he looked down over the railing at the stairs below. “Who knows, it might be unlocked with them bringing shipments down. It's worth a shot, especially since B5 was unlocked yesterday.”

For a moment, it seemed like Marik had an uncertain look across his face, but it was hardly distinguishable under his typical upbeat disposition. Bakura couldn't help but admire his features in that moment. He could just make out Marik's eyes beneath his sunglasses. Undeniably handsome.  _ Beautiful  _ worked just as well.

They both began their descent just as they had the day before, quietly climbing down each step and listening closely as they went.

He shook away his thoughts and instead focused on the task at hand. A few floors above they suddenly heard a door open and swing shut. Someone else had joined them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Look forward to a new chapter every weekend! (well, until the story is finished, that is. Ha. Who knows when that will be (it's a mystery (well, not to me because I'm writing it (but it is to you (you'll know when it's over because it will say The End)))))  
> Have a great week!


	6. Skills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooowwwiiiee! Another chapter just for you! You're all awesome. Every single one of you. Yes, you. Especially you. Don't forget that! And that thing you've been worrying about? It will all turn out okay. You can do it! I believe in you. For now, put on some Marvin Gaye, slip into something a little more comfortable, and read Chapter 6.
> 
> Also, as a forewarning for those of you that might be claustrophobic, there is a scene in this chapter that might bother you. I promise it doesn't go on for too long. I do still recommend at least reading the dialogue during the scene, as it is pretty sweet, but honestly, just do what makes you comfortable! <3

A few floors below the main level of KaibaCorp, Marik and Bakura swiftly descended the stairs toward B6. The air was thick and oppressive, ripe with moisture from the previous evening's rainstorm. Though they tried to stay quiet, Marik couldn't help but stumble every few steps as they could still hear someone following them from above.

Bakura began to suspect as they ventured farther down that more than just a single person was in tow, by the pattern of footsteps tapping on the preceding steps. Approximately two floors separated them, but that gap was closing faster than he would have liked to admit.

They rounded the corner and ended up on the landing of B5 once again. Bakura swung by the door and tried the handle, but this time it didn't budge. Marik was already on the next set of steps, an unusual air about him. The only direction they could go was down.

Bakura kept his cool. He caught up with Marik and they quietly proceeded toward the next floor, B6. The footsteps were still behind them, this time accompanied by voices that reverberated throughout the stairwell. It was difficult to make out individual words among the ghostly echoes. Neither Bakura nor Marik dared to stop and listen, or even look behind them at the very least.

When they reached B6, Bakura was relieved to find the door unlocked. They quietly slipped inside, shutting the door behind them with minimal noise. Locating a deadbolt on the inside, Bakura turned the knob into its locked position. “Let's hope this buys us some time,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder at Marik.

They were both surprised to find themselves in an expansive storage room, surrounded by rows of pallet racks reaching as high as the ceiling. Boxes and crates were stacked atop them, and an eerie cold silence surrounded them. “Great, what the frig are we supposed to do now?” Marik asked, eyes searching the room.

There wasn't much in the way of obvious hiding places. The pallet racks were set back against the walls from corner to corner, with tight openings between the items on each shelf. There were a couple open spaces, but they were rather conspicuous from Bakura's vantage point by the door. There were three rows of shelving running down the center of the room, just as brimming with crates and boxes as the ones lining the walls.

Suddenly the door handle twisted behind Bakura, causing him to jump forward. It turned back and forth to no avail, stopped by the deadlock. A couple muffled voices came through from the opposite side. He could just make out their discussion of finding the storage key. Bakura was unsure of what to do with the little time they had as he glanced between Marik and the door.

Just then, Marik grabbed Bakura by the wrist, abruptly jerking him from his spot. “Marik, what in the bloody hell—”

“Will you keep it down, Bakura?” Marik hissed as he pulled him to the back of the room, “I have skills, you know.”

“Ah, yes, your skills,” Bakura grumbled.

“My skills,” Marik replied matter-of-factly.

The distinct sound of a key gritting into the deadbolt rang out from the front of the room. Bakura wasn't sure what Marik was doing, but he didn't have much time to continue questioning him. They reached the end of the centered shelves and rounded the corner. Bakura pressed himself against the backside of the pallet rack, hoping to keep himself out of anyone's direct line of sight.

Marik, however, had different plans.

Before Bakura realized it, Marik had separated himself, staggering toward something on the floor. A latch.

“Bakura, quit playing 007 and help me,” Marik whispered. Bakura sprang from his position, running across the gap between the shelf he hid behind and the next one over. The front door handle twisted and this time began to open.

Together, they managed to pull hard enough on the latch on the ground to swing open a hatch door. All they could make out from where they stood was a ladder trailing down into darkness. They had no other choice.

Marik climbed down first and Bakura followed, listening to the voices coming closer as he grabbed a hold of the hatch and shut it on top of him. The bottom wasn't far down by any means, only masked by the darkness. Maybe an eight feet drop at most.

Once they both reached the bottom, Bakura felt the walls for some kind of light switch, though it felt futile.

“I swear, if this is one of Kaiba's sex dungeons, I'm going to kinkshame the hell out of him,” Marik said, his voice not too far from where Bakura stood.

“You mean you're  _ not _ into cartoon dragons?” Bakura snickered as he felt his way through the pitch dark.

Marik considered that for a moment. “Well, not particularly. Why? Are  _ you _ ?”

“No, Marik, I was being sarcastic,” Bakura's hand finally grazed what felt like a light switch.

The lights flickered on to reveal that they were in a tiny room, six by six feet at most. Along the walls were circuit breakers and other switches.

“I don't know, you strike me as the type that would be into some weird shit,” Marik spoke, though his tone grew unamused as he saw that they weren't actually standing in a sex dungeon.

They could hear creaking above them; a few pairs of feet moving all throughout the storage room. From the sounds of their voices, it seemed like it was the same group of people they had encountered earlier at the loading bay.

“So, what now, Marik? Since this was your plan and all,” Bakura asked, leaning lightly against the wall behind him. Though he behaved normally, exhaustion clouded his mind like a thick fog. Now that they weren't moving anymore, it hit him hard. He massaged his temples, trying to maintain focus.

“Excuse me, did you have a better plan in mind? I don't think so!”

In a matter of milliseconds, Bakura had grabbed Marik by the shoulders and pulled him backward, hand clamped over his mouth. “Will you quiet down?” He whispered as a single pair of feet walked directly over the hatch above them and stopped. They stayed like that, waiting for some kind of movement, desperately hoping someone wasn't going to open the hatch and peer inside.

_ CLANG _ . The above door shook with the impact.

They both tensed. Marik's mouth was still held shut by Bakura's palm.

But nothing happened. No one came down or opened the door. In fact, the footsteps wandered away from the area, leaving the two of them in a bit of shock.

“Don't tell me...” Bakura's voice had an incredulous air to it. He released Marik and climbed the ladder back to the top. He grabbed the inside latch and hoisted his strength upward, but there was no give. The door was much heavier than before. “Oh, bollocks,” he sighed.

“Let me guess, they put something down on the door?”

“That's precisely what happened, Marik,” Bakura replied, lowering himself down a few rungs and then finally dropping to the floor. “What was that again about your skills?”

“Hey, don't diss my skills, man.” Marik folded his arms.

Bakura heaved in a breath. “Who knows how long it will be until they move whatever is barring us in here out of the way,” his tone had a defeated air to it. He didn't want to consider that they could be trapped for more than a day, especially since there were only a couple days left until the tournament. He continued to rub his temples.

“I guess we could always just eat each other for sustenance,” Marik chuckled.

Bakura's lips twitched into a tight grin. “I quite like the sound of eating you.”

“Jesus, Bakura, I'm not into cannibalism. Take your strange fetishes to Kaiba's totally real sex dungeon,” Marik replied, eyebrows raised.

“I mean, we're stuck in this small room together—what do you say?” Bakura grinned.

“What the hell, Bakura, I'm not eating you—we're not even on the brink of starvation yet.”

Marik took a step forward, approaching the wall ahead of him filled with switches and buttons. “You know what we  _ could _ do, though,” he said thoughtfully, “is we could film a documentary—it will be like the Blair Witch Project—except it will be good. We'll call it The Marik Ishtar Project.”

“Is my name at least in the credits?” Bakura asked, amused.

“Yes. It will say 'In Loving Memory of Bakura,' because you will be the one that pisses off the ghost with your pronunciation of  _ herbal, _ and horrible spaghetti-eating etiquette,” Marik replied simply.

Bakura nodded, blinking hard as his eyes lost focus for a split second. “And what about you?”

Marik mused his question over. “Well, since my name is in the title and I'll be doing literally everything, I'll be the lone survivor—Oh! And in the sequel I'll be an old man living in a cabin by himself who warns the new protagonist, also played by me, of the horrors of the ghost from the first movie.”

“Groundbreaking,” Bakura responded, bracing himself against the wall. “Do—Do you think... you could help me out for a moment?”

Marik turned around to find Bakura hunched over and trembling. His eyes had the same glazed over look to them from the day before. Marik's stomach knotted tremendously. “Not this again,” the words tripped out of his mouth.

“I'm—I'm okay—I just... Just hold me up,” Bakura's voice was breathy. “I'm dizzy.”

Before he could register what was happening, Marik's arm was under his, supporting him by the shoulder. “You need to sit down.”

“I'm fine, Marik—just give me a minute.” He shut his eyes tightly, trying to make the spinning stop. His chest felt like it was caving in.

“Don't give me that. You're sitting down and you'll like it,” Marik said, easing Bakura down to the cold floor. Though he continued to verbally protest, he didn't fight Marik's grasp. His legs buckled anyway, and soon enough he was sitting up against the wall, much like he had been the day before.

“Are you still with me?” Marik asked, squatting down in front of Bakura, looking him directly in the eyes.

Bakura's vision came in and out of focus rapidly, but his breathing calmed. He laid his head back against the wall and looked into Marik's eyes, pupils slowly dilating to their normal size. “I'm okay.”

“Keep looking at me,” Marik said, his voice with less of an edge than usual. “What's happening?”

“I don't know,” Bakura responded, keeping his gaze fixed on Marik's beautiful irises. “I'm just tired.”

Marik shook his head. “I've seen you tired; you just get more murderous than usual. Do you feel sick?”

“I'm not sick—I'm telling you I just feel tired. I don't feel right.”

“It sounds like you're sick to me.”

Rather than becoming frustrated, Bakura sighed into a soft smile. The room slowed its unstable dance, and his head swam with something other than dizziness. Unknowingly, he placed his hands on either side of Marik's face, fingers laced through his hair and thumbs just before his ears. Their noses touched in the middle, foreheads planted together. Bakura closed his eyes, trying to maintain a grip on reality.

“Do you think the sequel will be as successful as the first film?” Bakura asked when the spinning stopped. He was too embarrassed to look back into Marik's eyes from this position.

Marik scoffed. “Sequels are never as successful as the first film—I mean unless we're talking Terminator, but do I look like James Cameron to you? If anything, fangirls will blog angrily about how the new film lacked Bakura.”

“I  _ am _ the most important character.”

“Don't push it,” Marik eyed him. Bakura's hands still held him in place, though with not nearly as much force as they had at first. “They'll also blog about the significant lack of my buttocks. See, with you unable to hold the camcorder, all the awkwardly prolonged but still sexy footage of my tush will be missing in the sequel.”

“What makes you think I would record your butt?” Bakura shot back.

“You're always looking at it!” Marik replied, his forehead digging into Bakura's.

“I  _ am not _ .”

Marik rolled his eyes. “Like that one time you dropped the channel changer off the side of the couch and asked me to get it for you just so you could look at my incredible bottom as I bent over.”

“I would do no such thing,” though he knew Marik wasn't wrong.

“I mean, I don't blame you for it—my bottom _ is  _ A+.”

Bakura silently admitted to himself once again that Marik wasn't wrong.

**

A few hours had passed since Bakura and Marik were trapped in the tiny room beneath B6. Luckily, for a good while, both of them had fallen asleep sitting up against the wall. Their stomachs took turns growling.

What woke them was the sound of more feet overhead. The ceiling creaked and groaned unpleasantly. Bakura stirred first, exhausted eyes following the sounds as they moved closer. The hatch door squeaked as the pressure was lifted away from it. Wheels. He could make out the distinct rolling sound against the floor. They must have been relocating what was put on top of the hatch.

“Oh, _ thank Beatrice Arthur _ , I thought I was going to have to actually eat you for a while there,” Marik said, voice groggy.

“Oh, darn,” Bakura replied, stretching his legs.

They waited for the footsteps to leave before finally climbing the ladder back up to the storage room. Bakura wasn't sure what time of day it was anymore, or how long they had been asleep for. They climbed the stairs back to the main floor, checking B5 along the way—it was still locked.

When Bakura finally had the opportunity to look at a clock, just as they walked through the main lobby, he was pleased to see it was only a little past four in the afternoon. “We have plenty of time to continue some looking around,” he said.

“Are you kidding?” Marik responded. “You almost died.”

“Don't be so dramatic,” Bakura gave Marik a look. “I was a little dizzy.”

Marik crossed his arms and looked at him accusingly. “Well, I'm hungry. You said we were getting pizza.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Bakura finally dropped his gaze and his shoulders sagged. “Fine.”

It was just after five when they reached their apartment. Bakura clumsily climbed the stairs to the third floor with a pizza box in his hands. Marik scurried along ahead of him, holding the box of breadsticks and the soda he had picked out. “Do you have your key?” Bakura asked as he followed Marik down the hall to their door.

“I thought you had _ your _ key—oh, never mind, I have it,” Marik said as he tucked the soda bottle under his arm and pulled his keys out from his pocket. “I'm not used to having so much room in my pants for pocket space.”

He unlocked the door, and they were greeted by the television, which played a steamy scene from some Lifetime movie.

“I told you to turn that off before we left,” Bakura grunted as he set the pizza down on their counter and kicked his shoes off.

“You said to turn it  _ down _ ,” Marik corrected him, searching for the remote. The volume was definitely lower than usual.

“Pretty sure I said to turn it  _ off _ .”

“Well what does it matter now, Bakura? You're hurting the TV's feelings.”

Bakura pulled two plates out from the cupboard and shook his head. “Pardon my manners.”

Marik switched the channel to some sitcom Bakura had never heard of before, but he didn't seem to mind bearing through it if it meant eating dinner. They were both famished. Marik teased Bakura about his disdain for mushrooms and threatened to put one on Bakura's half of the pizza.

It felt good to rest on the couch. Bakura's chest wasn't as heavy that way. He set his plate down on the coffee table next to Marik's and leaned back, letting the couch absorb the tension in his spine.

Marik sat closer than usual. There was barely a gap between his right thigh and Bakura's left. Bakura preferred it this way. It was satisfying to him without making it too obvious that he pined for Marik's intimacy.

“Marik, there's something I wanted to tell you today—Something I didn't get the chance to say,” Bakura spoke up, having trouble bringing his voice higher than a whisper.

“Did it involve pizza and/or butts?” Marik asked, finally taking his eyes off the TV screen.

“No, no, I'm afraid not,” Bakura replied. He swallowed and suddenly lost his words in the realization of how close their faces were to each other. His heart skipped and throat tightened.

Marik waited for him to continue but stopped short when he got a glimpse of Bakura's hair. “Haha, Bakura, one of your bat-wings is trying to break free.”

The bat-wing style was a hard one to tame down for work. Bakura spent most of his morning trying to straighten them, and even tried using gel to smooth them down, but the two pieces of hair constantly tried to fight any kind of styling. He wasn't in the least bit surprised that one was sticking up.

Marik ran a hand through Bakura's mane, slipping his hair-band out and releasing the length of his hair. “Geez, it just doesn't go down.”

“I know something I'd like to go down,” Bakura remarked slyly, though he felt his cool exterior cracking.

Marik ran his hand through Bakura's hair once again, leaning in closer than he had before. “Really? Like what?”

“O-on second thought,” Bakura stammered, his ears burning.

Marik hovered in front of him, unamused. “If you're going to say something, just say it, I don't have all friggin day you know.”

Bakura's mind was fuzzy. He only had eyes for Marik's lips. He pleaded with himself to forget it; to just masturbate in the bathroom instead like he usually ended up doing. But, something was different this time. The mood was different. He was comfortable. It was a feeling he didn't know was possible to obtain.

This time he touched Marik's face not out of panic like he had earlier, but because it was something he knew was long overdue. His fingers grazed Marik's jaw, and neither of them could sum up the courage to say anything. The tension he was so used to living with thickened the air around them. He so badly willed to fight it. All he wanted to do was get closer. He had never wanted anything this much before. He needed it like he needed his Ring. He craved Marik.

And it was Marik who leaned in and dragged his lips tenderly across Bakura's.

Bakura's arms were weak. His heart pumped viciously in his ribcage. He didn't know how to control himself. He drove his lips harder against Marik's, their teeth clashing somewhere in the middle. Wet and hot, his tongue found its way into Marik's mouth. Marik let out a soft, surprising moan. It was something Bakura had never heard before, and it was distinctively sexier than he could have ever imagined.

Bakura sat up mid-kiss, managing to continue their passion, and shrugged off his jacket. Marik's lips were silky and warm; his escaping breaths were tantalizing. He pressed Marik backward into the couch, laying him down. Marik's hands made their way to Bakura's chest. Their tongues found each other again.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Bakura managed to whisper between kisses. His desire ached deep in his chest, overwhelming the heaviness it had felt all day. He needed more. They parted, breathing rapidly against each other's faces. Marik had a noticeable flush to his face, and a distant look in his eyes.

“Marik, I—” Another wave of kisses began, deeper than before; hungrier than before. Bakura found himself grinding into Marik, his brow knotted with lust. Marik's fingers found Bakura's nipples and pinched hard. Bakura stopped suddenly in response, a heavy, lilting sigh escaping through his parted lips. It was a sound he had certainly never made before in his entire existence. His toes curled.

“Don't you want to touch me?” Marik whispered, his eyes gazing deep into Bakura's.

Bakura only then noticed his hands remained by Marik's face; arguably the most PG-rated spot given their situation. “What kind of question is that?” he growled into Marik's ear. His left hand extended down to Marik's crotch, cupping his balls. Marik squirmed under him, bucking up into Bakura's hand.

He couldn't take it anymore. Bakura unbuttoned and zipped down Marik's pants, revealing his erection. It was a decent size with a good girth. He wrapped his fingers around it and rubbed it softly at first, but per Marik's frequent beckoning, he worked at it harder, panting into Marik's ear. Marik groaned softly, his teeth teasing the side of Bakura's neck.

Marik came sooner than he and Bakura had expected, but it was welcomed nonetheless. Bakura didn't think much about achieving his own orgasm. In reality, he was so physically exhausted, he knew it would take him an embarrassingly long time to reach climax. Instead, he stood with shaky legs and grabbed some paper towels to help Marik clean up the mess he had made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! New chapter will be up the evening of 12/29 <3


	7. Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part of writing this chapter was coming up with a title. I'm really no good at those.

A flash of white light.

It didn't seem to die away. Were his eyes open or shut? He couldn't tell. He could hardly remember his own name.

He was numb and clueless; trapped in a strangely familiar void. Senseless, though his ears still functioned. Or, it at least seemed that way. All around him he could make out the slow, dying beat of a drum. One-two. One-two.. One-two... One-two. A heart?

Cold. Icy, cold metal. He could feel it on his flesh. Everywhere at once. He had no edges. The drum picked up its pace. A yearning spawned from deep within him. It felt like hunger; like thirst. The sensation on his skin taunted him. He knew what it was, but not the name. He could picture it. Golden as the sun. The item that helped him feel whole.

Lucidity. He still couldn't remember the name, but he knew he needed it. He knew it was what he had been looking for. It had been stolen from him. But, suddenly it was there. On his skin. Where it belonged. The drum picked up speed, its volume plateauing.

He willed for his fingers to move. He wanted to grasp it. But, his fingers were nowhere to be found. They didn't exist here.

The item was there, but he couldn't see it; it was there, but he could only feel it. What a cruel existence. Rage overcame him. The white light tinged to a murky red.

In spite of himself, he tried again and again to make his hands exist; to find some way to secure his treasure. It was  _ his _ . It belonged to no one else. It was his home. It was his family. Rage became desperation. Desperation became hopelessness.

And with that, the metallic sensation began to fade. It was leaving him. Hopelessness turned to dread.

If he could speak, he would have pleaded for it to come back. He would have given up everything if it meant having it again. If he could walk he would have chased it. The drum lost its tempo. Its volume decreased sharply. One-two. One-two. One-two.. One-two... One-two....

_ I'm going to die _ .

“ _ Bakura! _ ”

Bakura's eyes shot open, reality exploding into view. He sat up and choked in air, heat falling from his face. Marik was in front of him, his face different than usual. Shockingly different. His eyes were glossy and wide, forehead creased. If he didn't know any better, Bakura would have mistaken him for a small child.

“Marik, what's going on?” Bakura asked, his stomach tight.

Marik stared at him incredulously and then rubbed his eyes with his forearm. “Stop asking me questions I'm supposed to be asking you!”

Bakura laid back into his pillow, hand on his forehead. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to stop it from spinning in circles around him. “It happened again, didn't it?”

His bedroom was dark save for the dull early morning sunlight leaking through his blinds. An infomercial played out in the living room, loud enough for him to make out each word of the “customer testimonials.” The air was thick, and beneath the sheets Bakura was drenched in sweat.

And then Marik's head was in his hands, fingers gripping his own scalp tightly. He was on his knees at Bakura's bedside. “You weren't breathing.”

“I'm breathing now, aren't I?” Bakura said, though his throat tightened. For once, he could recall the dream he had—if  _ dream _ was even an accurate word for it.

Marik shook his head, hands still clenched in his hair. He visibly trembled and his breaths were sharp. He hunched forward, trying to maintain.

Bakura sat up again, this version of Marik creating knots in his stomach. He remembered the conversation they had the night Marik got into bed with him. “ _ He's _ gone now, remember? You vanquished him. You said it yourself the other night.”

“He's never gone,” Marik whispered, his voice rough. “I made him. He’ll always be part of me.”

Bakura thought about reasoning with him, but had a feeling it would only make things worse. He exhaled quietly and folded his hands in front of him. “Remember that time I let you cut my hair?”

There was a moment of silence before Marik's fingers loosened. “And you told me to just trim it but I cut off, like, two inches?”

“It was more like four inches.”

“You're exaggerating, Bakura,” Marik's voice began to even out. He rubbed his eyes, which appeared watery in the dim light. “But, I made it better when I added layers.”

Bakura rubbed his temples. “And I haven't let you near the scissors since.”

“Are you bringing this up because you're going to give me my grown-up scissors back?” Marik looked hopeful. And there he was again; the same Marik Bakura was used to. Silly Marik.

Bakura smirked. “I thought you liked the plastic safety scissors?”

Marik scowled, running a hand through his hair. “They can't even cut through paper—how am I supposed to cut the midriffs out of all my new shirts?”

The TV still played drawn out commercials, though this time they focused on kitchen utensils. For the first time that morning, Bakura could at least say he felt all right. Though, there was no doubting the different atmosphere between himself and his roommate since the events of the previous night. He was still embarrassed about the way he sheepishly escaped to his bedroom after. He didn't have the strength to go any further than what they had done. Most things were becoming physically exhausting.

“What made you come in here?” Bakura asked after a pause in their conversation.

Marik had gotten to his feet and folded his arms. “I was waking you up for work—but that's out of the question. There's no way you're going when you're obviously ill.”

Bakura gave him an unconvinced glare and kicked his legs out from under the covers. “We have a lot of work to get done—the tournament is in two days.”

“We can get it all done tomorrow,” Marik quickly shot back.

“Marik, exactly what have we accomplished so far?” Bakura's expression was cool, but on the inside a pool of frustration and urgency was welling up.

Marik sighed dramatically, but even he knew they still had much to do in preparation for Saturday evening. Though, he couldn't shake his worry for Bakura's health. “Fine. If you want to go so badly, then go. I'm staying here.  _ I'll  _ be watching Golden Girls all day  _ without you _ .”

“You're not really swaying me with that one.”

The two stared each other down wordlessly, mainly because Marik was trying to come up with a better persuasion tactic than Golden Girls. It proved to be a difficult feat. He didn't let his gaze falter.

“I don't think you understand how important this is,” Bakura said, frustration lacing his brow. His chest was heavy again.

“Something is  _ clearly _ wrong with you, Bakura.  _ You're _ the one not understanding.”

“It's because of the Millennium Ring.”

Silence fell on them again, only this time Marik looked skeptical. “What do you mean?”

Bakura sighed and sat back down on the edge of his bed, avoiding eye contact. “I can really only last so long in this body without it.”

“...And you're just telling me this  _ now _ ?”

He raised his eyebrows, still keeping his gaze low. “I've only just realized it's the cause of all this. This body is rejecting me because I have nothing holding me here.”

Marik's shoulders slouched forward. He paced the room, visibly bothered by his words. “Are you even going to last until Saturday?” His voice nearly cracked.

Bakura glared at him. “I'm going to make sure of it.”

“Okay. Okay.” Marik continued his pacing. “There's got to be another way to do this.”

“There  _ isn't _ . We need all the information we can get so our plan goes as smoothly as possible. We've been slaves of the KaibaCorp system for a handful of days and we still have no idea where the bloody tournament is going to be.”

“Because every clue we've gotten has made us wander around the frigging basement like idiots,” Marik muttered. There was a new urgency to his voice—one Bakura had never heard before.

“I mean, everything we've heard and seen has made it seem that...,” Bakura paused, his face looking more pale than usual. Of course. “Marik, it's not in the basement at all. Why would they leave evidence laying around if they know someone's trying to break in? They know there's an imposter among them, remember?”

Marik stopped his pacing and looked to Bakura. “Those bitches.”

“We need to explore KaibaCorp on our own.” He stood suddenly, grabbing his jacket from the floor beside his bed. “No more guided tours. No more being watched over by instructors.”

Marik stopped Bakura short by grabbing his wrist. “Well, we can't do that during the day time.”

Bakura knew he was right. Staying home suddenly made more sense. He dropped his shoulders, reassessing their situation. He knew resting was probably his best bet if he needed his strength to get through the next couple days. “We're going to have to sneak in later, when it's quiet.”

“See, Bakura? I told you staying home was a good idea. Just think of all the fun we can have with daytime television.”

Bakura groaned. “I'm going back to bed.”

And he did. Marik woke him up not even an hour later with a bowl of soup in his hands. “Look, Bakura. I can be domestic—it's chicken noodle!”

Bakura sat up, peering into the bowl and then back up at Marik. “Is it supposed to be... thick like that?” It was more like a congealed pile of noodles in the bowl than actual soup.

“Rude! I warmed up what was in the can. There are starving children in Egypt that would eat this.” Marik eyed his roommate harshly.

“Marik, it's condensed soup. You're supposed to add water.”

He stopped and looked down at the soup, squinting at it. “Ohh... you know, I thought it mentioned something about that on the label. I mean, it's still good, probably.”

Instead of trying it, or rejecting it altogether, Bakura went out into the kitchen with Marik and showed him how to properly prepare canned condensed soup. And tea.

** 

Though night had shrouded Domino City, it lived on in the eerie glow of streetlamps and headlights; traffic signals and skyscrapers, specked with lit windows. It had a difficult time going to sleep, as cities are wont to do. Especially given that night came earlier in the late autumn months.

Marik and Bakura hovered by the employee entrance of KaibaCorp, not bothering to wear their usual suits and going for their typical looks.

A good portion of employees usually went home around an hour earlier, leaving the more dedicated, or just plain unlucky, graveyard-shift workers. They knew this was their chance to slip through the halls mostly unnoticed.

“We're going to have to end up using our access cards,” Bakura said, taking his out. “We'll have to find new ones if we want to cover our tracks.”

“You know what we should do, Bakura,” Marik chimed as Bakura swiped his card and the door unlocked. “We should rearrange Kaiba's sock drawer—you know, really fuck with him.”

Bakura nodded, swinging the door open. “Yes, that would really screw things up for him.”

“ _ Thank you _ for finally agreeing with—You're being sarcastic aren't you.”

“What gives you that idea?” Bakura grunted.

They slipped inside the darkened hallway they had entered through times before. KaibaCorp felt like an entirely different establishment with less light and employees milling about. For once it could have been regarded as  _ peaceful _ .

A single security guard sleepily walked through the corridors of the main floor, left hand in his pocket and right hand lazily hanging by his side. He blinked hard, trying to stay awake, but he knew his shift would soon be over and his mind was in other places.

He rounded a corner into another corridor, and entered the employee locker room, surprised to find the lights out. He felt the wall to the right for the light switch but was either too low or too high to locate it. “Geez,” he muttered when his fingers finally touched it.

But, before the lights could come on, the wind was knocked out of him. A swift jab connected with his stomach, and before he knew it, Bakura had jammed his head into the very wall he searched for the lightswitch on. Knocking him out cold.

“Wouldn't happen to have a shiny, new access card would you?” Marik said from somewhere in the shadows, behind Bakura.

“Marik, he's unconscious.”

“Are you fucking kidding? I was supposed to deliver my line and  _ then _ you knock him out—what a load of bull honky.”

Bakura ignored Marik's continued complaints, glad that Marik at least stayed quiet enough to keep the guard clueless before he knocked him out. He was just able to make out the glint of an access card pinned to the employee's jacket. “This is our ticket.”

They slipped through the halls and into the main lobby, where a pair of silver elevators flanked by a swipe entry lock sat at the back of the room, inconspicuously shadowed by a vending machine. Once open, they stepped inside and were awestruck by the amount of floors suddenly available to them.

“Bakura, can I—”

“No.”

The doors closed them in.

**

After around an hour of exploring the building, they found themselves in a control room on a deserted floor, filled with rows of computers, most with blackened screens, but one by the front was still on.

Marik instantly entered the room, skipping ahead of Bakura and over to the computer. He sat down and unfroze the computer. “I wonder if they have minesweeper on this thing.”

“Focus, Marik.”

“Don't tell me what to do—Oh! Geez, I need a password.”

Bakura rolled his eyes and turned around, prepared to step back into the hallway. “I wouldn't be surprised if it was something as simple as BlueEyes.”

“That worked, actually,” Marik said, his voice containing indescribable amounts of enthusiasm.

“You're kidding.”

Marik laughed. “He  _ really _ is that predictable.”

“Like you're one to talk—I've seen your twitter handle.”

“At least my username isn't  _ MidKnight _ , you know,  _ with a K, _ ” Marik shot back, pleased with himself. He received a nastier glare than usual from Bakura, who was proud of his clever username.

Once the computer loaded where it had been left off, it showed the employee database. A roster of every employee, both current and past.

Bakura looked over Marik's shoulder. “Nothing about the duel?”

“No, but look! Personal information!”

Marik was right. In front of him were the names, social security numbers, addresses, phone numbers, and records of every KaibaCorp employee. He scrolled through the list for what felt like ages. “Haha, I just renamed this guy Harry Balls, Bakura!”

Bakura huffed, making his way back to the door. “We really should hurry, Marik.”

“Hold on, I'm having fun,” Marik replied, his eyes glued to the screen. “This is like The Sims, but only less entertaining because I can't tell them all what to do—” Marik stopped short, something clicking in his brain. A smile spread on his face.

“Okay, well, I'm going now,” Bakura said over his shoulder, slowly closing the door behind him in an attempt to coax Marik out of the room.

Marik didn't reply. He clicked through a few options and typed something hastily into the computer, and chose  _ Accept Changes _ . At first it lagged greatly, but after a moment a window came up on the screen, a blue dragon logo at the top.  _ Changes can take up to 24 hours to fully implement. Restarting the system to begin making changes in 3... 2... 1.... _

And the screen went black.

“Marik, get out of there before I have our cable subscription canceled.”

Just as Bakura finished his threat, Marik arrived by his side at the open door, squinting at him. “Good try, but you used that one last week—I've learned your tricks!”

“Hey, who's there?” A thin, prepubescent voice came out from the other end of the corridor just outside of the computer room.

Marik and Bakura froze, unsure of what to do with themselves. The voice had come from the same direction as the elevator—the only exit they knew of.

A short figure emerged from the shadows, unmistakably Seto Kaiba's little brother, Mokuba.

“ _ Jesus Christ, is that a fucking gremlin _ ?” Marik nearly shouted, backing up into Bakura.

“No? I'm a third grader,” Mokuba responded. “Wait, I know you guys! You're trespassing on KaibaCorp property!”

Before they could respond, Mokuba pulled a walkie-talkie out of his pocket. Bakura managed to separate himself from Marik in that time and slap it out of the boy's hand. “If you want to live you won't make a sound.”

“Yeah! Fight the gremlin, Bakura!”

“Shut up, Marik.”

“What's all this commotion up here?” A voice came from somewhere at the end of the hall opposite where Mokuba had come from. It had to have been another security guard. Bakura and Marik looked to each other and then back to Mokuba. A pair of footsteps grew closer to rounding the corner.

He didn't have time to think. Bakura grabbed Mokuba, securing a hand over his mouth and darted for the elevator. “Marik! Let's go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone catch the [Most Popular Girls in School](https://youtu.be/YRM0zoB6LvM?t=1m41s) reference? Aaanyone? No one? Okaaay, just checking. Stay cool, my dudes.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me so far! I'll try to post Chapter 8 on schedule, but there's no telling with the craziness of this coming weekend. Seeya! (does anyone actually read these? haha)


	8. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, sorry this chapter is so late. This past week has been very difficult for me, as I've been dealing with some sudden health issues. Thanks for hanging in there! If you're keeping up with this story week to week, please take a look at this chapter's end note. Got some important update info down there. For now, enjoy yourself some chapter 8.

Mokuba dangled from Bakura's arms like a rag-doll, eyes bulging. From behind them came the voice of the security guard who had spotted them, “We have intruders on the sixteenth floor!”

Bakura and Marik scrambled into the open elevator Mokuba had originally come from, jamming the  _ door close _ button. They could see the guard's face down the hall; one of Kaiba's usual plain lackeys in sunglasses. He spoke into the same kind of radio Mokuba had just before it was knocked out of his hands. Slower than they would have liked, the elevator doors sealed them off and they were zipped downward.

“I have a feeling they'll expect us on the main floor—we'll have to get off earlier,” Bakura stated, repositioning the boy in his arms. “I don't know how much longer I can carry him. I'm feeling weak.”

“Don't give me that look,” Marik replied. “If I hold him like that he's probably going to do weird things like lick the palm of my hand.”

Bakura was unamused. “Don't give him ideas. Just be ready to take him when I need you to.”

They exited the elevator at the third floor, familiar enough with the area to know that the stairwell entrance lie at the end of the corridor.

Marik opened the door to the stairwell first, poking his head inside and investigating for any signs of life. It seemed quiet enough. They descended the stairs quickly, Bakura nearly tripping several times with Mokuba in his grasp. Just as they reached the second floor landing and rounded onto the final set of steps, the door to Floor 2 opened. “They're in here!” someone called out.

They picked up speed as two security guards gave chase. Bakura knew there was no way they could leave through the main entrance, or the employee entrance. Those would surely be the first places they would block off. They reached the first floor landing and stumbled out into the main corridor, aware of a couple voices down by the main lobby, and painfully aware of their pursuers.

“This way.” Marik tugged on Bakura's arm, heading away from the main entrance. It was then that Bakura realized what Marik had in mind.

Bursting through the door, they ran headlong through the darkened loading bay. Bakura remembered vividly the employee that told them about the strange draft by one of the bay doors. It was their only chance at this point.

Marik's foot caught on the edge of a pallet and he stumbled forward into Bakura, bringing him down to the icy floor with him. Mokuba broke Bakura's fall. He squirmed underneath them to break free, but with the nearing voices of the security guards giving chase, Bakura knew he didn't have the time to allow Mokuba leverage.

Marik was up first. He darted for the hatch by the third bay door, and as they were told, a cold wind spewed in through a gash in the wall just by the lock. Upon yanking it open, he discovered a loosely boarded opening leading outside. Just small enough to fit through.

With labored breaths, Bakura met him just then, Mokuba readjusted in his arms. Marik was able to rip up the board blocking their way, but he stopped and looked to his roommate. “Go first,” Bakura hissed, glancing over his shoulder.

“The only place left is in here,” A voice shouted just outside the entrance to the bay.

Marik slid feet first out into the cold, dropping down a meter or so to the asphalt below. He looked up through the hole just in time for Mokuba to fall through, landing directly on top of him. “What the hell, Bakura!”

“Grab him before he runs away!” Bakura whispered urgently. He shut the hatch behind him and dropped down as well, ankles barely absorbing the shock. He was immensely tired.

“I don't think he's running away,” Marik said as he watched Mokuba dizzily attempt to get to his feet. Marik stood and looked to Bakura.

“What are we waiting for? We need to get out of here,” Bakura threw an arm around Mokuba, but just as he lifted his weight, Mokuba vomited down Bakura's front side. He stared at the mess in horror, his stomach turning as well.

Mokuba slid out from Bakura's arms and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Man, I feel  _ way _ better after that _.” _

**

As soon as their apartment door swung open, Bakura made a beeline for the bedroom, peeling off his ruined clothes along the way. Marik watched uncomfortably as Mokuba ran into their living room and hopped onto the couch.

“Sweet, you guys have a TV,” Mokuba said, bouncing up and down.

“ _ My _ TV,” Marik cut in, rushing for the remote before Mokuba could touch it. They locked eyes intensely. “Don't you understand we're holding you hostage?”

Mokuba shrugged. “Just another day in the life—Do you have soda?”

Bakura entered the living room as well, now in his more comfortable sweatpants and T-shirt. “No. No soda. No fun. You're here to give us information.”

“Whoa, hey, listen,” Mokuba folded his arms. “I know how this kidnapping thing goes by now. I'll give you what you want if you give me what I want—and I want HD Nickelodeon and sugar.”

Marik laughed suddenly, maniacally. “We don't have the HD cable package—Bakura said it was a waste of money.”

“That's messed up,” Mokuba replied, face incredulous.

“ _ And _ we don't watch Nickelodeon, right Bakura? We watch Lifetime—you know, the  _ good _ stuff.”

Bakura shook his head slowly, choosing not to add to the exchange now that Marik was getting riled up in his true evilness. He went into the kitchen and filled a shot glass with a clear liquid, downing the entire thing at once.

Mokuba huffed, shooting an icy glare at Marik. “Lifetime is for old people.”

“ _ You take that back! _ Bakura, can we return him?”

“Marik, just let him watch what he wants,” Bakura exhaled and walked out into the living room with them.

There was an intense moment of silence as Mokuba stared at the remote in Marik's hand. “You were way cooler the last time you kidnapped me.”

“I did not such thing,” Marik retorted, visibly offended.

“Yeah you did, back in season 2, remember?”

Marik furrowed his brow. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Yeah, your Steve army did it—you took me and Tea and Joey, and you let me have pizza.”

“Is this a Jedi mind trick? Are you mind tricking me?”

Bakura wished he had poured another shot for himself. He eyed Marik harshly, until Marik finally gave in and handed Mokuba the remote. “I think we still have leftover pizza,” Marik muttered in defeat.

Mokuba excitedly turned the television on and flipped through the channels. “Yes! This will be like a sleepover! Seto doesn't let me have those. We should buy a cookie cake.”

Bakura sat down beside Mokuba, trying his best to remain calm. “So, what do you know about the event this Saturday?”

“Have you ever built a blanket fort?” Mokuba asked suddenly, his eyes filled with wonder. “Oh, man, I'm gonna stay up all night!”

However, after an hour of Spongebob, two slices of microwaved pizza, and countless sugary items from their pantry, Mokuba was suffering from a sugar crash. His eyes were half-lidded, and his head tipped forward every so often. Bakura had tried his best to coax answers out of him with more promises of desserts, but he still wasn't getting anywhere.

“It's no use, Bakura,” Marik said from the kitchen. “He's not going to tell us anything.”

Bakura pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't want to lose his cool, but this was too important for him to just keep playing this game with Mokuba. “Listen, we gave you everything you asked for. We just need to know where the duel is going to be on Saturday.”

Mokuba's eyes were shut by this point, but in the sleepiest voice he whispered: “The roof.”

Bakura and Marik looked at each other, thrilled.

“So, it's been the roof this whole time,” Bakura mused, his heart in a frenzy. “They really were just screwing with us.” He stood up, facing Marik. “If that's the case, I think I have an idea.”

**

After Bakura placed Mokuba on Marik's bed and shut the door, he turned to face his roommate, who stood against the wall beside him. “This is it, Marik. We have tomorrow to prepare, but after that, those items and cards are ours for the taking. You just can't forget our plan.”

Marik nodded, the light from Bakura's bedroom casting a golden glow across the right side of his face. “Imagine all the evil things we could do with access to Kaiba's private floors, like  _ using his toilet _ .”

“Let's not use his toilet, Marik.”

He let out a melodramatic sigh. “You know, Bakura, you don't need to be such a Dorothy all the time.”

“Excuse me?”

Marik rolled his eyes, leaning his full weight on the wall. “You know, from Golden Girls. You're just like Dorothy with the way you're a stick in the mud about, like, everything.” Just as Bakura tried to reply, Marik spoke up again. “And I get it, not everyone can be a Blanche like myself.”

Bakura pressed his lips into a hard line. He imagined Marik as more of a Rose than a Blanche, but didn't argue it. He didn't want to get into anymore Golden Girls discussions with the self-proclaimed number one fan.

It was the first time their apartment was this quiet, save for the night of the power outage. A calming warmth permeated the air, and though Bakura could feel his spirit detaching from Ryou's body with every passing second, being with Marik this way made him numb to it. His eyes traced the edges of Marik's face. Never bored of his features.

“Is there something on my face?” Marik asked, rousing Bakura from his thoughts.

Bakura shrugged. “Not at all,” his voice hummed. “I was just trying to remember something.”

“Yeah, I stare creepily at people when I can't remember things, too.”

“Actually, this is when you ask what I'm trying to remember,” Bakura replied, amused.

“Okay. What are you trying to remember?”

“Where we had left off last night,” he raised his eyebrows suggestively. Despite his cool tone, he was flushing his deepest shade of red.

He was met with a vacant expression from Marik. “See, I have soo much more game than you,” he laughed louder than Bakura expected. “Hence why I said 'not everyone can be a Blanche like myself.'”

“Oh?” Bakura responded, the corners of his lips twitched into a smirk. He shifted his weight to his left side and folded his arms. “Perhaps you could teach me.”

Marik raised his brows and considered this deeply. “Okay, but you'll have to come closer—it's a secret.”

Humoring him, Bakura took a step closer. The silence hanging in the atmosphere buzzed in his eardrums. He kept his expression cool, but inside his stomach was burning pit of anxiety and desire. Marik leaned in close, hovering by his left ear.

Bakura expected him to whisper something stupid and kill the mood, but before he could process what was happening, Marik's teeth ground against the cartilage of his ear. Electricity pricked its way down Bakura's neck. His legs were weak in an instant.

Marik sighed into his ear, breath balmy. Bakura relaxed against Marik, gasping and grinding his hips into him. He dragged his lips against the skin of Marik's neck. His dick throbbed, awkwardly juxtaposed within his pants. He could feel Marik's, too. Just as hard as his own.

Soon, Marik's teeth left Bakura's ear and traveled down his neck, biting and sucking. Bakura shuddered, heart racing. Bakura's hands found their way to Marik's pants, fiddling with the button and zipper. Their lips met.

The kisses were different than before. Slower this time. Deeper, somehow.

Instead of undoing his fly in return, Marik got a handful of Bakura's package, massaging his balls through his pants. Bakura panted, leaning his forehead on Marik's shoulder. He cupped Marik's ass cheeks, fingers digging into the flesh through his jeans.

They stopped for a second, looking at each other with glazed eyes, silently communicating. The bedroom. That's where they decided to take this.

Marik led Bakura in, stripping off his own shirt. The elaborate scars on his back caught the lamplight, surprising Bakura for only a moment. He knew they were there, but somehow he had forgotten. Marik didn't mention it much since the conclusion of Battle City.

Bakura shut the door behind him, watching Marik undress. His bare shoulders, his hips, the tone of his skin, his sleek chest and stomach. He longed for it all. He wanted to taste every inch of Marik's body. He pulled his shirt off as well and dropped his pants to the floor.

They faced each other, each getting an eyeful of the other's naked body. They kissed again, their noses awkwardly jamming in the middle. Bakura let out an embarrassed chuckle. He paused just as Marik tugged him in the direction of the bed. Without warning, the room began to spin around him. His hands shook. Another episode was coming on, he could feel it.

He leaned his weight into Marik, catching him off guard, and they both stumbled onto the mattress. Marik landed on top of him, biting Bakura's neck once again upon impact. But, Bakura wasn't responding passionately like he had been. Marik looked at him inquisitively.

“I'm—I'm okay. Just keep going,” Bakura muttered, laying his hands on Marik's hips.

Marik looked at him as if he were crazy. “If you pass out, this is going to be really awkward.”

Bakura stifled a dazed laugh. Drunken, almost. “I won't.”

“What if I fuck the spirit out of your body?”

Bakura threw his head back among the sheets and erupted into heavier laughter. “Just fuck me.”

“Do you even have lube?” Marik responded, looking around them.

“It's in my drawer, Marik.”

Bakura let out a gratified moan as Marik worked his fingers in and out of his entrance, using his free hand to keep himself busy. Bakura was maintaining better now, keeping himself just on the edge of slipping away.

“Just put it in already,” Bakura's voice lilted in Marik's ear. “I want your cock inside me.”

After applying much more lube to both Bakura's ass and his own dick, Marik got himself into position, and quicker than he had planned, thrust inside. Bakura's breath hitched, eyes wide from the impact. Marik, on the other hand, groaned from the pleasure, losing himself in the overwhelming feeling. He rolled his hips into him again, this time a soft, breathy moan coming from between Bakura's lips.

He was suddenly back in reality. One with his body. His cock twitched and yearned to be touched as it laid back against his stomach. Marik's chest was was pressed into his own, their sweat mingling. Quiet sighs of pleasure resulting from both of them. Bakura's fingers grabbed Marik's ass once again, seducing him in deeper.

The bed could barely handle their undulation. It squeaked and groaned, and smacked into the wall with each thrust. Bakura had never felt so truly alive. Marik looked down over him as he continued, Bakura writhing beneath him. Their tongues met before their lips had the chance to.

“I'm—I'm going to cum,” Marik panted.

“Do it,” Bakura growled into his ear.

Marik let out a heavy cry, his entire body tensing. He pumped semen deep into Bakura's ass, breathing heavily into Bakura's chest.

Bakura could feel Marik's cock twitching inside him, hot and wet. He teetered helplessly on the edge of orgasm until Marik started stroking his dick for him. He bucked up into his hand, enjoying the sensation of his skin. Marik bit Bakura's neck once more before Bakura finally came, semen drenching his upper abdomen. They stayed where they were for a long while, listening to the sounds of each other's breathing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so with things going the way they are now, I've decided UI will no longer be posted in single chapter weekly updates. Instead, I will be posting the remaining chapters all at once. This takes a little extra time, but it shouldn't be too much longer. As always, I'll keep you guys posted on [tumblr](http://www.banana-ghoul.tumblr.com) under the [UI tag](http://www.banana-ghoul.tumblr.com/tagged/unpaid-interns-fanfic). Only a handful of chapters left! Thanks for reading!


	9. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who forgot to think of names for these chapters before posting?

Sighing. Whimpering. Groaning. It was all rich in his ears, like thick, purring static. His body ached and writhed beneath Marik, gasping against the building tension. He craved for a second release, eyes clamped shut and mouth agape, anticipating Marik's lips. Bakura had learned those lips well, despite only being recently introduced. Their mouths lingered centimeters apart, sharing torrid breaths until their tongues met again, softer than they had during their first round.

This time their sex was slow and savory. Bakura's toes curled with each undulation, his chest rising and falling steadily. Marik's eyes were intense, a focused wrinkle planted at the base of the bridge of his nose. He was lasting considerably longer than before, enjoying the skin-to-skin sensation; losing himself to the heat. Not even in Egypt had he ever broken a sweat like this.

They finished together, moaning quietly into each other's ears. Marik's hips pressed deep into Bakura's bottom as he throbbed within. Bakura laid his head back, shoulders relaxing into the bed and letting the sensation warm him through.

When Marik pulled out he grabbed desperately for the tissue box on the nightstand. “So, _hypothetical_ question,” he said while assessing the mess, “if I got cum on your sheets, _which I didn't,_ how mad at me would you be?”

Bakura mused that thought over, though he was fighting hard against the weight of his eyelids. “Depends, are you planning on washing them for me?”

“You know I don't get along with the washing machine.”

“If we keep things up like this, you're going to be best friends with the washing machine.”

Marik folded his arms, crumpled bunch of tissues still in hand. “Going a second round was _your_ idea.”

“I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about,” Bakura hummed, propping himself up on his elbows. His satisfied cock lay back against his stomach. “You were the one who was practically begging for another go.”

“I don't _beg_ ,” Marik shot back. “If anything, you were the one whining the whole time.”

“I don't whine,” Bakura eyed him, his cheeks flush.

“' _Oh, Marik, stick your enormous rod in me again! you're so incredibly sexy, probably the sexiest creature alive'--”_

Bakura kicked at him, but Marik slipped off the bed just in time to dodge. Bakura watched his bare ass as he sauntered through the door and into the bathroom.

 

Bakura wasn't sure what time it was when he realized he had been staring into space for quite a while. Marik snored softly into his chest, muttering in his sleep on occasion about his rightful ownership of the television. It had only been a matter of several hours since they kidnapped Mokuba, who continued to sleep like a rock in the adjacent room.

Thoughtlessly, Bakura passed a hand through Marik's hair, a difficult feeling welling in his chest. He couldn't get past how detached he felt from his physical form. Perhaps a side-effect of feeling so in tune with it during their earlier passions, he mused. It was the closest he had been to feeling whole since the last time he possessed the Millennium Ring.

For a brief moment he considered the possibility of their mission failing, but shook his head. They had come too far for that. They had done so much that would all go to waste if he couldn't make it.

No matter what, he was going to make it work.

“Shouldn't you be sleeping?” Marik mumbled dreamily. In the vague moonlight, his eyes glinted softly, looking up at his partner.

“Not sure I can, to be honest.”

Marik inhaled, repositioning his head on Bakura's chest. “I figured you would be more tired than me—but, I mean, I guess I _did_ do all the work.”

“Shut up,” Bakura kept his eyes forward, though the semblance of a smirk grew on his lips. “It was either that or overwork myself and pass out again.”

“Hn,” Marik grunted. “Is that why you won't sleep? You think it'll happen again?”

Bakura shrugged, though Marik couldn't tell. “Not exactly.”

Silence hung in the air for a minute or so. At first it seemed Marik had fallen back asleep, but he was only thinking. Bakura enjoyed the quiet for what it was.

“I don't know if you've gotten this yet, but it really freaks me out when you lose consciousness,” Marik said, his tone cool but his eyes wide in the darkness. “I think you should try doing less of that.”

“I'll get right on it.”

Mokuba's snores droned on through the wall from Marik's bedroom, louder than before. It surprised them both for a second. How could someone so tiny produce such a noise?

“Say, Marik,” Bakura said, his voice no louder than a whisper. “What _would_ you have done if I'd passed out again?”

He considered this for no more than a split second. “Isn't it obvious? I would lose control of myself like I always do. I thought you would have had this figured out by now.”

“Well, no, I mean, I know that. But, wouldn't you try to regain control?”

Marik turned so that he was lying on his back beside Bakura, looking up at the ceiling. He nervously played with his own hands, rubbing his palms and knotting his fingers. “Does Ryou ever try regaining control?”

“Are you really comparing me to Melvin?” Bakura shot him an incredulous glance.

“I never said that—no need to be so dramatic.”

Bakura rubbed his eyes, his right foot meeting Marik's left. “The difference here is that Ryou is powerless. You've overcome Melvin in the past.”

Marik sighed, recalling the traumatic events associated with Melvin's presence. None of it felt like an actual victory to him. He always depended on others for help. If it weren't for Yugi, he wouldn't have had the leverage to take control again. Every time he was alone he could feel Melvin trying to boot him out of the way. He was never actually in control, and that was what scared him.

He shut his eyes, choosing to pretend that conversation hadn't happened.

As he figured, Bakura didn't sleep for quite some time, tired as he was. Too many things weighed heavily on his mind—his vengeance, their plan, obtaining the Ring before it was too late. He was barely hanging on, and he knew it. The only fear Bakura admittedly knew dated back three thousand years. When his wide, horrified eyes gazed upon the slaughter of his village. When he lacked the power to do something. That feeling wasn't so distant anymore.

 _I can't deny I'm losing control_ , the words fell into his mind one by one.

“Bakuuuurraaaa,” Marik's voice shrilled, jolting him from sleep. Just then, sunlight burst in from the window as Marik pulled up the blinds. “You're alive, right?”

Grumbling into his pillow, Bakura shifted so that he faced away from the light, his naked shoulders and upper back visible in the knot of sheets he managed to twist himself into since Marik had risen earlier that morning.

“I've made progress with the gremlin,” Marik hissed, eying the open doorway.

“What the bloody hell does that mean—what time is it?” Bakura asked, unsure of when he had actually fallen asleep.

Marik folded his arms. “Like, one o'clock I think. I haven't paid much attention with all the Lifetime we've been watching.”

Bakura glanced up at Marik, wincing as his eyes adjusted to the midday brightness. He felt thoroughly exhausted, more so than he had the evening before. Not to mention his ass was sore.

When he had finally located his various articles of clothing that had been strewn across the bedroom floor, Bakura entered the living room, unsure of what he was going to see. And, as he figured, nothing could have prepared him for it.

In a chair in front of their television, Mokuba sat with his eyes glued to the screen. The ending credits of a Golden Girls episode played and he turned, looking at Bakura with glazed eyes.

“What did you do to him?” Bakura asked.

“It's called conditioning, Bakura. Now he can watch Lifetime with me any time I ask him to,” Marik answered simply. He strolled over to the couch and sat down on the far side so he could get a view of the TV that didn't involve the back of Mokuba's head. “It's been great, we started the morning with _Little Women_ , you know, the light stuff, but in no time, he was up for watching _His Secret Family_.

“Sarah didn't deserve any of that,” Mokuba said, his eyes turned back to the screen.

“I know,” Marik responded, dramatically pointing in Mokuba's direction to prove just how much of a difference he made.

Bakura barely blinked in response. The Golden Girls theme music started up again, and he wordlessly entered the kitchen and filled their kettle at the sink. Episode 4 began, and Mokuba seemed to watch intently. Marik watched him more than he watched the episode, waiting for him to laugh at the funny parts. And when he did, Marik nearly fell out of his seat in utter elation. “Bakura, he finds it humorous!”

“I am so proud,” Bakura grumbled.

Once the episode was over and Bakura was sipping his tea, trying to tune out their voices, Marik approached Mokuba. “What did you think of that one?” he asked, scrutinizing Mokuba's face.

“I thought it was funny,” Mokuba replied in a robotic voice.

“Wasn't it?” Marik laughed. “I can never get over the scene at the restaurant.”

Mokuba just stared at him in response, the image of various Lifetime original movies burned into his retinas. “Can we watch another episode?”

Marik's expression was akin to a proud father seeing his child take their first steps. “Yes. Yes, let's watch another!” Marik said as he queued up the next episode.

“I hate to burst your bubble, Marik,” Bakura began, setting his tea down on the counter. “But he can't stay here forever.”

“Be quiet, Bakura.”

Bakura rolled his eyes and headed back to the bedroom to change into suitable daytime clothes. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling as if he still wasn't adjusted to being awake. Out in the living room, he could hear Marik going on about how Mokuba should check out his Golden Girls side blog, and giving him pointers for entering the fandom. “It's great if you start small, but creating your own content is where it's at. When I posted my first gifset, I had no idea it was so easy to piss off the Dorothy fans. You just have to _know_ what people want.”

“That sounds exhausting,” he heard Mokuba reply.

“But it's so worth it! Hold on, let me show you an edit of mine.”

Bakura knew exactly what he was pulling up on their computer. The MS Paint edit of all the sassy old ladies sitting around their kitchen table, the only difference being the over-exaggerated angry face Marik drew over Dorothy's. Marik boasted for days about how much he loved making her fans mad on the internet.

“Don't get me wrong, I love Dorothy—but I also love being evil,” his voice came again from the living room

Bakura returned to the kitchen only to grab the remainder of his tea, and then he ventured back to his room, shutting the door behind him. He needed some time to think about their plan. If all went well, 24 hours from then they would be in KaibaCorp, prepped on the roof for their attack. Mokuba would be held on standby in case they needed a hostage for bargaining purposes. He could just imagine the look on the pharaoh's face. He could feel the Ring in his hand, and he could see his bounty, ready to haul back to Egypt. It was perfect. It was all too perfect.

Bakura felt himself being coerced by sleep again, and this time he didn't feel he had much of a choice in the matter. He slept for a while, a disturbed sleep. When he roused again, something felt off.

“ _Ah, fuck_ ,” he muttered, hand on his forehead. His vision grew blurry. With widened eyes, Bakura attempted to plant himself firmly in place; focusing his thoughts on the present. He was above this. Things like this weren't supposed to happen to him. He was stronger. “I bet you're laughing somewhere in there,” he whispered, thinking of Ryou.

No response, not that he was expecting one. He could feel his sanity slip further as he winced against the undertow. It was by far the most extreme episode of them all. He gripped on to Ryou's body harder than ever before, fearing the worst. _I'm going to die_ , the waking thought from yesterday's dream came back to him. He couldn't do that. He couldn't let his soul lose its footing. If he did...

Marik. Where was he? Why couldn't he hear his voice anymore? Bakura braced against the side of his bed. His heartbeat chugged in his ears. _I'm not giving in_ , the words echoed throughout his mind. _I've come so far._

 _“_ I would lose control of myself like I always do,” Marik's words burned in his brain.

No. That wouldn't do. None of it.

Bakura regained control of his breathing slowly but surely, eyes locked on the floor beneath him.

With shaky hands, he used the bed as support to stand himself up. By the time he was on his feet, the spinning sensation had faded for the most part. Relief washed over him, though he still wasn't feeling his best. He ambled toward the door, expecting to hear Marik going on about something Lifetime related to Mokuba, but instead he was met with absolute silence. Not even the sound of the television met his ears.

A sheet of paper torn from a notebook lie on the kitchen counter in their vacant apartment.

“Yo, Bakura,” the note began. “You were sleeping like a little baby, so I didn't wake you! Mokuba and I are in town, getting our hands on a limited edition copy of Golden Girls season one signed by Betty White. Mokuba has the best ideas! Don't wait up for us, he says the lines for this kind of stuff can be long. Okay, bye!”

“That imbecile,” Bakura huffed, crushing the note back down onto the counter. He grabbed for his black jacket and headed out the front door, hastily descending the apartment stairs and turning out onto the street. He had no idea how long ago Marik had left, or where he could possibly be, but the entire thing spelled out trouble to him. Bringing Mokuba out in the open like this was the stupidest thing he could imagine happening, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably.

When he reached town, he glanced at the people loitering around the area, others moving from shop to shop. No sign of Marik, not even the sound of his grating laugh.

He hurried past a darkened alleyway when suddenly a pair of hands were on him, securing a dark piece of fabric over his face. He fought their grasp, but from what he could tell, there were too many strangers involved to fight off. His legs and arms were bound despite his struggles and attempts to break free.

“We've got the other one, boss,” a voice said, presumably into a radio. Static buzzed back in response. “On our way back now.”

When the cloth was unwrapped from his face and he could breathe fresh air again, Bakura was being led into an interrogation room. At the far side, Marik's arms were being bound to a chair, and he smiled sheepishly in Bakura's direction. “You've _really_ done it this time,” Bakura grumbled.

“Oh, don't give me that look,” Marik responded, raising his eyebrows. He jerked backward in his seat as a familiar employee placed restraints on his ankles. “Easy with the goods!”

Once the employee finished and got to his feet, he turned to leave but stopped just as he reached the door. “I just wanted to say, 91485, thank you for introducing me to Golden Girls,” he placed a hand on the latch. “I binged, like, ten episodes last night.”

“I knew you would come around, Steve!” Marik replied, a pleased glint in his eyes. “See that, Bakura? I'm doing God's work.”

Bakura grunted in response, keeping his eyes forward in the white room as the security guard that brought him in secured his arms and legs down to the chair he was in.

A couple minutes of silence passed when the door opened again. The air grew thick and intense. The both of them looked up just in time to see the star of the show enter the room.

“Well, what do we have here?” Kaiba's unimpressed voice droned, echoing in their ears. “Two nobodies who decided it would be funny to kidnap my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a disclaimer, I literally know nothing about the Golden Girls fandom, if such a thing exists. Please don't be mad at me, Dorothy apologists.


	10. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm like half asleep, i don't know what to put here. Hi.

Kaiba's eyes delivered an icy stare as he paced the interrogation room. “Somehow even with the tracking chip under Mokuba's skin, you were able to keep him hidden for quite some time. Congrats,” his expression was smug as he looked on at the two villains.

“Yeah, our apartment has like _no_ signal, it's crazy,” Marik responded almost immediately.

Kaiba ignored him. “You two have thirty seconds to explain to me what the hell you're trying to pull here.”

It was as if they were in the principal's office, mouths pressed into firm lines as they felt Kaiba's eyes burn holes into their heads. Bakura and Marik looked to each other, unsure of how much they wanted to say or what would give them the best chance of escape.

“I was showing Mokuba the wonders of the Lifetime channel,” Marik said, shifting his weight backward into the chair. There was an intense silence among them as Kaiba absorbed this.

“So, let me get this straight,” Kaiba spoke. “You're telling me you've been parading around as two unpaid interns for the last week just so you could show Mokuba crappy daytime television?”

“So, you _have_ known all along,” Bakura cocked an eyebrow. “That we've been posing as employees.”

Kaiba's mouth pulled into a tight smirk. “Do I look like the kind of man that has the patience to watch my employees do things?”

After a few seconds of humming quiet, Marik finally spoke up, “Do you want us to answer that?”

Seto drew in an obnoxiously loud breath, folding his arms and stepping back from the table. “I'll have you both know: I am a man of dignity, and most importantly, I am a man of business. Paying attention to my employees takes away from the precious time I could be using to daydream about defeating Yugi in a cardgame. I get my information like I get everything else; someone gives it to me.”

Bakura grinned, “When _was_ the last time someone _gave it_ _to you._ ”

Marik's laugh shrilled through the room. “Oh ho! It's funny because you're definitely a virgin!”

“I'm going to ignore that one,” Kaiba replied, his brow twitching. “Let me put this into easier terms for you to understand: the other employees recognized you when you were brought in just now.”

“But, you at least had to have had a suspicion someone was a fraud,” Bakura prompted, genuinely intrigued in Kaiba's answer.

Kaiba rolled his eyes. “My men have had their eyes on a particular employee, but honestly, I'm not sure why you think I care so much about whether you two make buffoons out of yourselves.”

“So you were fucking with all the evidence related to the duel because of someone else?” Marik said suddenly, glancing over at Bakura.

“Is that what this is all about? You wanted to get into my duel with Yugi tomorrow?” Kaiba scoffed. “You guys give me too much credit. I really have never given that much of a shit. It's pretty simple: your asses show up, and I have you thrown out. Neither of you are threats to me anymore. Aren't you supposed to be a protagonist now?” He looked to Marik.

Marik appeared genuinely offended. “I'll have you know I am the evilest villain this show has ever seen.”

Rather than responding, Kaiba turned to face Bakura now. “And aren't you supposed to be... gone for an entire season?”

“What can I say? The fangirls wanted more of me.”

“You're both a couple of idiot wannabe villains.” He dropped his hands from the table and paced toward the door. “I haven't been screwing with any of your plans. I can trash Yugi at duel monsters whether you're there or not. If it's the God cards you're after, you might as well kiss them goodbye, because after tomorrow they will be mine, and you'll be sitting in one of these cells thinking about how important you are while it happens.”

Marik rolled his eyes. “You know, Kaiba, I usually _enjoy_ being bound to a chair like this, but somehow you've managed to suck all the fun out of even that.”

“Of course you would know a thing or two about sucking,” Kaiba put in as his hand clasped the handle of the door.

Marik looked infuriated. “Are you trying to say I'm gay?”

“Give it up, Marik, you're as gay as they get,” Bakura responded.

“I am not.”

“You had sex with me last night.”

“Oh-fucking-kay, I did not need to know that,” Kaiba swung the door open and let himself out.

Marik grinned deviously at Bakura, possibly hoping to redeem himself, but it was obvious Bakura had enough at this point.

Two new henchmen entered and guided them out of the interrogation room and out into the hallway. The area seemed strikingly familiar, and their thoughts were confirmed when they got a glimpse of the windowed door before turning down a different hallway. They were in one of the basement rooms they had visited back when this all started. The area was large enough for duel arenas, yes, but little did they know it was actually being used for containment.

The cuffs on their wrists and ankles were released as they were shoved into a cold, white holding cell, with nothing more than a ledge jutting out from the wall to serve as a place to sleep. The door slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing throughout the room.

“Well, there goes our plan,” Bakura sighed. He walked toward the eastern wall of the room and folded his arms, promptly taking a seat on the floor. “I would have made a break for it when they uncuffed us, but honestly, I don't think I would have gotten very far.”

Marik nodded. “You _are_ a slow runner.”

“I'm too tired, Marik,” he shot him a glare. “If it were any other day, I would have gotten away no problem.”

Bakura laid his head back against the wall, his stomach a pool of frustration. He thought through their situation forward and backward, but his race against time made it harder to think. He needed his Ring. If he had it, none of this would have been an issue. They would have found a way to get the rest of the items by now, one that didn't involve pretending to be a couple of Kaiba's lackeys.

Marik paced around the room, examining every crack in the wall, presumably looking for a way to escape. “Remember that one time in Golden Girls when they were mistaken for prostitutes and put in jail?”

“Marik, you better be bringing this up because it's leading into your plan for getting our asses out of here.”

He stuck out his lower lip. “I was just thinking it would be funny if _we_ were prostitutes.”

In a fit of annoyance, Bakura huffed, giving Marik the side-glance of a lifetime. “No more Golden Girls. No more nonsense. The second those fictional old women get us out of this mess is the second I will care.”

“Fine, geez. I'm just trying to lighten things up a little.”

“Do me a favor and just don't,” Bakura muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No more.”

Marik squeezed his fingers into his palms. “No one asked you to be such a stick in the mud.”

“You aren't even taking any of this seriously,” Bakura snapped back. “We're stuck who knows where in KaibaCorp, doomed to miss the duel and our opportunity to take the Millennium Items back. I can barely walk a few meters without being winded. It's obvious you don't even care about what's going on.”

“Can you chill out?” Marik replied, their gazes meeting in that moment. Marik's wavered. “You're making me nervous.”

“Incredible. _You're_ the nervous one? Whatever, Marik.”

“Well, at least I'm not a _jerk_.”

“Always have to have the last word, don't you?”

“I do not.”

 

The night passed slowly, painfully so. In the distance, a single man stood with his eyes on the glowing building that was KaibaCorp. A knowing grin spread across his lips as he considered that everything was going exactly to plan. In a matter of hours, his chance would be upon him. He would finally achieve victory and power. He was a mere silhouette with the morning sunrise bursting behind him. The man slid on his motorcycle helmet and climbed back onto his bike, speeding off into the city toward his goal. “Soon,” he muttered. “Soon.”

 

Bakura wasn't sure how many hours it had been by the time his eyes opened. He still sat propped up against the wall, his ass notably numb.

Across the room sat Marik, who noticed almost right away that Bakura had awoken. “You know, I thought about saying sorry, but then I remembered I'm still mad at you.”

“You're really still on this?” Bakura groaned. “When you could have been thinking of ways to get us out of here?”

“Ohhh, so it's my job to do all the work while you lie back and do nothing. Real friggin typical.”

“Marik, I'm dying.” An intense silence fell on the both of them. Bakura couldn't hold his collected gaze any longer. “I'm having a dreadful time holding on. I don't know if I can keep this up.”

Marik averted his line of sight, keeping his eyes on the concrete floor at his feet. “What's... What's the big deal, really? You can't actually die.”

Bakura pinched the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to keep himself there. “If I lose control, my spirit returns to the Millennium Ring. Which is with the Pharaoh. I'll be trapped there for who knows how long... I definitely won't have the leverage to fight back by the time I find a new host... He'll probably have had his way by then.”

Marik couldn't handle sitting anymore. He got to his feet and paced the room, glancing out through the thin window in the door on occasion. “There has to be a way to fix this,” he said. “I mean, we're the main characters—of _this_ story anyway.”

“Have you thought that maybe this could turn out to be a tragedy?” Bakura responded. Though he was serious, he couldn't help but feel a certain smugness in saying it.

“That's ridiculous, Bakura,” Marik shot him a deadpan look. “The only tragedy here is that no one is ogling my midriff right now.”

“That _is_ very tragic.”

“Maybe you could fix that.”

“Maybe you could shut up.”

Though, Bakura didn't have much trouble stealing a glance of Marik's flawless abdominal muscles in that moment with guarded eyes.

Before he could process it, Marik was in front of him, kneeling down to eye level. He drew in a slow breath, his eyes on the ground between them. He then leaned in and kissed Bakura sweetly. “I was going to say sorry but I remembered I'm too stubborn to do that,” Marik said once they parted.

“I would forgive you if I wasn't just as stubborn,” Bakura replied.

“You take that back—you are _way_ more stubborn than me. And a jerk.”

Bakura's lips twitched into a halfhearted grin as Marik's forehead met his own. “Yes, yes. I am both those things.”

“ _And_ you always leave the friggin mayonnaise out on the counter.”

He couldn't help but smile wider. Bakura longed to wrap his arms around Marik in that moment, but he soon realized he didn't have much strength in his upper body. His arms were dead weight hanging by his sides. His head swam. “Marik, if we don't... If I don't make it through this—”

“Stop talking nonsense, Bakura. We're gonna get out of here. I'll figure something out. We always find a way.”

“Please don't make this harder on me than it is, Marik. I'm just being realistic,” a breath caught in his throat. “I don't think I'm going to make it out of here.”

Marik didn't respond right away. In fact, he was fighting a pain in his chest as he considered what he could possibly say in response. “I'm not sure what I'll do,” he finally said.

“You'll be fine. You'll get out of here and you'll go back to Egypt. You'll forget all about this.”

“I can't do that.”

Bakura swallowed, his head feeling foggy. “You can and you will.”

Marik couldn't support himself anymore. He dropped onto his bottom and looked Bakura over with burning eyes. He had to admit, Bakura looked just as badly as he felt. Disheveled, in his appearance and disposition. He wasn't used to this Bakura. It made his head pound. “You have to fight it,” he said.

Without giving much thought, Bakura shook his head. “I can't anymore. You have to be strong, Marik.”

“That's the problem, Bakura,” Marik's voice rose, “I'm _not_ strong. How can I be strong when I'm afraid of myself?”

Though he understood what Marik was saying, Bakura's mind was a flood of feelings with barely any intelligible words to express them. He couldn't do it anymore. He braced hard against his consciousness, willing himself to stay aware for just a moment more. The world went black, but when it came rushing back seconds later, Marik was in his face again, eyes pleading. He couldn't hear him, but he could see him speaking.

Before the final wave of darkness overcame him, Bakura gave Marik a hard, steady look. “Ryou wasn't powerless.” he managed to say. “He—He's won against me before. _Do not_ forget—”

And then Marik realized he was alone.

Bakura's chest quit rising and falling. His body was still and limp. Just like that, he became another painful loss.

Marik's eyes hung on him, pupils constricted. He was on his knees now, hands in his own hair. His heart thumped and his head ached. “ _No, no no,_ ” he whispered, but there wasn't any going back.

He could feel Melvin's hands upon him, shoving him down into the riptide, drowning him in oppressive memories of loneliness and self hatred. Searing pain raked at the skin on his back, pricking its way up his spine and diving deep into his vertebrae. It consumed and embraced him, gripping his pumping heart and squeezing until every piece became crude and then blackened as if it were licked by flames.

Marik fought against Melvin's grip with every ounce of might he could summon, but it was too much. With Bakura's lifeless form in front of him, he couldn't bring himself the will to move forward. He was an overwhelmed, helpless child again. Above all else, Marik was undeniably despondent.

 _I'm not strong enough_ , he thought, and a powerful voice from within encouraged that. Egged him on to give in to it; to become his feelings. He shut his eyes, sealing Bakura's image off. _He's not dead_ , he reasoned. _I can save him_.

But Melvin's grasp was torture. It was a pain he admittedly didn't have the strength to bear. So many times before this he had given in because it was the only way he knew. The only path he understood.

He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't enslave to his own emotions. Fear was a constant. Masking it was a must. This pain was his reality. And he felt swayed to just accept it. Only the strong survive, and in his eyes he was undoubtedly weak by comparison.

Marik's pained grunts echoed throughout the tiny room. The longer he held on to the ledge of reality, the harder Melvin's foot ground Marik's fingers into the surface they clung to. Marik ached to hear Bakura's voice again. Just one more time. Something to ease his descent. Something to ease his heart ache.

 _Ryou wasn't powerless_ , he heard. Marik clenched his teeth as he replayed the memory until he could make out every rise and fall in Bakura's speech. Until it was all he could hear.

And then he let go.

 

“Well, well. Long time no manslaughter,” Melvin's notably grainy voice came from Marik's lips. He stood from the floor, brushing dust off from his clothes. He stopped short once he instinctively reached around to his buttocks. “Where the frig is my murder rod?” he checked his pockets. “And I don't even have trading cards. Don't tell me I've been introduced into one of _those_ fanfictions.”

Once he noticed the door with the slotted window, a thin, toothy grin spread across his face. “No matter. I _am_ known for my creativity.”

Just outside the door, two of Kaiba's usual henchmen were nearly falling asleep. They propped themselves up against the wall adjacent to the entry way, apathetically kicking dust around on the concrete below. That was when a knock came upon the door.

They exchanged looks before the one closest approached and slid the tiny window open. “Yes?”

“Hello, good gentlemen,” Melvin beamed. “May I interest either of you in a group hug?”

“A group... hug?” He replied, glancing to his coworker.

“Yes. A good, old fashioned hug.”

Before the employee at the window could respond, the other employee came closer. “You know, man, that doesn't sound too bad right now.”

“You're right,” his coworker replied. “I haven't had a good hug since that asphyxiation fiasco.”

Melvin nodded. “Oh, asphyxiation is _so_ last season. I promise only the most satisfying of _bone crushingly_ feel-good hugs.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get kind of heavy coming up. Just thought I'd say that?


	11. Change of Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh you want some angst? oke

“I sure do love the sound of cracking skulls in the morning,” Melvin remarked as he looked over the bodies of the two henchmen he had encountered moments earlier. Behind him, the holding cell door sat ajar, somehow making the area seem larger than it actually was. “Now where was I? Right. I have to find my favorite Millennium death object.”

“Excuse me, that is _my_ Millennium dea—Rod you're talking about,” a familiar voice came from the depths of Melvin's mind.

Melvin paused mid stride and lowered his eyebrows. “What are you still doing here?” he said out loud, though no one was physically in front of him. Besides the bodies. “Aren't you supposed to be soliciting head-space from other characters? Oh, right. Your girlfriend is dead.”

“He's not my girlfriend, he's just British. And I'm taking my friggin body back,” Marik responded. Though his tone was defiant, Marik was shaken to the core. He willed himself to maintain his composed facade.

When Melvin took over his body, Marik managed to find a foothold somewhere in his mind. To him, it appeared as a single spire in an empty, rocky chasm. He pulled himself up to its top and planted himself firmly there, hoping to find a way to kick Melvin out. Melvin's vision was projected onto a wall in front of him.

With a barking laugh, Melvin shook his head and continued walking despite Marik's crowed protests in the back of his mind. “I will take so much pleasure in squashing your pathetic presence out of this head,” and with that, a terrible force swept across Marik, leaving him desperately clinging in place to the final piece of consciousness he could find. “Persistent one, aren't you? I enjoy that in a victim.”

“Okay, before you start touching yourself over this, I'm going to make one thing clear,” Marik said once he was able to maintain his hold. “I was in this body _way_ before it was cool.”

“That's a lot of talk for someone who's about to be erased from existence,” Melvin replied as he ascended the stairs. “Especially when you don't have much to live for anymore, am I right?”

Marik winced against his words, struggling to put thoughts of Bakura's lifeless body in the furthest reaches of his memory. This time, another wave knocked Marik back. He nearly lost his hold this time but recovered quickly when it finished.

Melvin laughed as he passed basement level B2. “Just as I thought. You'll be picked off in no time.”

And Marik knew this was a possibility, but he didn't fight for his spot just to be knocked down. He knew what he needed to do. Bakura's last words still played in his ears, though distant and quieter than before.

As Marik prepared to reply to him, Melvin came to a sudden halt as the B1 door opened to reveal a single KaibaCorp employee. “Wait a second, aren't you—”

“Your best nightmare,” Melvin replied, his hand instantly gripping the employee's throat. Marik jammed his eyes shut during the following events.

Melvin cackled, dropping an employee to the floor. “I hope you're enjoying the show,” he said to Marik. “I know I'm enjoying the dread you're feeling right now. I can't wait to shatter that ridiculous mask you wear, and taste the fear underneath.”

“Ew.” Marik's expression was bewildered. “I mean, I'm sure I'm delicious, but just keep your weird tongue away from me.”

As if on cue, Melvin licked his lips and Marik cringed. He continued his ascent, using whatever means necessary to get employees out of his way as he continued. Most of these means involved murder, as one would expect, and all Marik could do was watch and try to think of a way of getting himself out of this.

“I'll give you credit, weaker half, you're doing a lot for a lost cause. There's nothing you can do to fix him, just like your father.”

Marik tensed, a burning ferocity igniting within himself. “You're the only lost cause I see here.”

Melvin stopped halfway up the staircase leading to the 6th floor. The atmosphere in his mind rapidly shifting into a boiling, burning room. This time, he didn't speak out loud. His voice was solely internal, loud enough to shake the pillar from which Marik stood. “ _Care to repeat that?_ ”

This time, Marik didn't so much as flinch. “Sorry, I guess I wasn't loud enough. I said you're a worthless parasite.”

“You're forgetting who has the upper hand here,” Melvin said within again, his rage continuing to send tremors throughout his mind. He continued up the stairs, a vein across his forehead looking like it was about to burst.

Melvin made another attempt to shake Marik out of his head, but Marik wasn't afraid anymore. He could tell Melvin was cracking. He was beginning to learn Melvin's weakness. He collected himself, remembering Bakura's words. He wasn't about to lose sight of his goal over this. He needed to save Bakura's soul from the pharaoh. He couldn't fail him, as he had failed so many people before.

Just as Melvin reached the 10th floor and attempted again, in vain, to rid Marik from his head, he grew restless. “If you want to stay with me so badly, be my guest. I didn't realize how much you want to watch me carve the Millennium Ring to pieces once I get a hold of it. Dismantle it completely. Toss it right into the flames.”

“As if you'll be able to get that far. I'm just letting you blow off some steam—you are one angry guy.”

“You would know, since I was created from your anger.”

“But you've grown out of proportion. You're a manifestation of my negative feelings only—but I have other emotions that make me who I am.”

Melvin snickered. “More like you pretend to be someone you're not. Just face it, weaker half, we are one in the same, only I express my anger and you brush yours under the rug. You mask it with bizarre statements and wild, silly reactions.”

“You're meaning to tell me,” Marik said, his tone intense. “That all of _these_ feelings are fake?” Just then he put all of his energy into bringing forth his memories of Bakura. The way it felt to make Bakura smile, even when Bakura didn't think Marik could see him doing it. Sitting on the couch together and watching television for hours until both of them were sound asleep. Eating pancakes at the diner and moaning over how the chocolate chip smiley faces looked more indifferent than cheerful.

Melvin couldn't move anymore. The feeling bombarding his mind were too much for him to handle. He held himself up on the railing of the 14th floor, hands slick with sweat. “I don't need you,” he growled. “You are worthless to me. Every part of you.” He looked down over the stairwell railing. “It would be a shame if you were to slip.”

“Do it,” Marik replied, folding his arms. “Like you said, it's not like I have anything left to live for.”

“Don't test me,” Melvin grunted in response. “I'll be merciful, since you've been such a _hospitable_ host. I'll give you the option of leaving and continuing on as the sad, lonesome spirit you really are—or your beautiful body will be a mangled mess somewhere on the floor of B13, that is, if you don't hit the railing on the way down.”

Marik scoffed. “You're nothing without me, you realize that, right? Without my soul, you wouldn't have manifested, and without this body you would have nowhere to go.”

This time, Melvin wasn't sure how to respond right away. The pillar Marik was situated on swayed, but he stayed put. He thought of Bakura's voice again, his body, the touch of his lips, the way he always had some shitty comeback to everything. As much as it pained him to recall, Marik projected his feelings for Bakura into Melvin's mind.

Melvin fingers dug into the metal railing. “Get out of my head,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Get these frigging feelings out of my head.”

“Happiness, right?” Marik asked, his hands clenched into fists. “It's a feeling you convinced me wasn't normal; that I didn't deserve to feel for what _you_ did to my father.”

“You created me,” Melvin responded between harsh breaths. “You were the one that killed your father.”

Marik watched Melvin's mind slowly fall to pieces around him. “I'm not you.”

Melvin's form shattered before him, Marik's mind becoming more hospitable and allowing him room to take back control. When he fully came to, he was noticeably exhausted from the amount of energy Melvin had used while in charge. He rested his head against the wall, trying to catch his breath and make sense of his feelings.

 

“Nice of you to join me,” a soft voice spoke.

Bakura's eyes cracked open, but the intense white light around him forced them shut again. His hands and feet were numb and a slow, steady chugging sounded through the air.

“You don't have a lot of time, you know,” the voice continued.

Bakura furrowed his brow and opened his eyes just enough to make out the all too familiar face looking over him. He grimaced, closing his eyes again. “Are we pulling a Censored Town?”

“Well, not exactly,” Ryou mused. “This time I have actual screen-time.”

“Congratulations,” Bakura groaned. “And I'm having one hell of a fever dream.”

It definitely felt like it. From what he could tell, Bakura was in an endless white void, reminiscent of the dream he had only a couple days prior, lying on his back. Ryou sat by his side, legs crossed.

Ryou shrugged. “I mean, as far as I know, this isn't a dream—in the respect that this is all very real. We do need to hurry, though.”

Through narrowed eyes, Bakura produced a harsh look. “I've barely any energy left to so much as have this conversation. What could you _possibly_ want from me?”

“I'm trying to help you.”

Bakura managed to turn onto his side and support his head in his hand, looking up at his vessel's spirit. “I don't take pity gestures. Especially from you.”

With a sigh, Ryou crossed his arms. “Listen. I—I've felt your pain for weeks now. I've done my best to keep you going, but it seems you've gotten yourselves into quite the predicament.”

Bakura tried not to think of the mess he was no doubt leaving behind. Of Marik. “Like I believe any of that. Don't act like you've had control over this situation. There's a reason I keep you in the deepest confines of this mind.”

“Because you're afraid I'll take my body back again?”

“Because you don't play any part in my affairs, that's why,” Bakura retorted, obviously unamused.

Ryou rolled his eyes. “I'll have you know, if it weren't for me you would have lost domain over this body back when you lost the bloody Ring.”

Bakura flopped backward onto the ground with an indignant sigh. “Do you want me to owe you, or something? Is that what this is about?”

“You know I'm not that kind of person,” he returned. “I'm doing this because I know what it feels like to care for others, and... This mind hasn't been the same since you met _him_.”

It was now Bakura's turn for the eye rolling. “Just let me die.”

“You can't hide it. I know you better than you think.”

Bakura grunted in response, wishing death would take him anyway.

“I could have taken this body from you long ago. But... I guess I've always understood your loneliness. When you lost the Ring, I fed you my energy because I wanted to see how you would use it. And you asked Marik to live with you.”

“Listen, I didn't ask for dramatic commentary—”

“You really do care. Somewhere in there. Maybe the only way you can understand it is by calling it an easier name: obligation, hatred, indebtedness—”

Bakura turned onto his opposite side, hands to his ears in vain. “Just stop.”

Ryou relaxed backward, planting his hands onto the floor behind him to stay upright. “And right now I can tell you're only thinking of him. Of how you've failed him. And how he's probably let his darker half take control—”

“Piss off, already,” Bakura cut him off again. “I don't need your help. I'm alone, and soon I will return to the Millennium Ring where I'll spend another thousand years _alone_ and without vengeance for my people.”

“I'm giving you a chance to save him,” Ryou said. Bakura blinked as he stared into nothingness. “That's what you want, right? To at least save him from himself before you leave?”

Bakura's jaw was tight. His chest ached like never before. “The body is yours now, you know. Just take it. You've won, okay?”

“I only have a little energy left. It really isn't much, but it's enough to either let me take over and spend a few weeks recovering in the hospital... Or you can have it in these last moments to do what you need to. The decision is yours.”

Bakura scoffed, somehow propelling himself upward into a sitting position. He locked his pained eyes onto Ryou, searching his face for any sign of dishonesty. “You sniveling... You absolute fucking... You—”

“Hn?”

“ _You have an opportunity to seize power_ _from me_ _and you're giving it up_?” Bakura's voice was incredulous. He scrambled toward Ryou, hands shaking.

Ryou shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. “I've always had the power. And now I'm giving it to you.”

The sounds that came from Bakura's mouth were unintelligible. His chest was caving in. His hands gripped Ryou's neck, fingers pressing into the flesh. “ _You're a real piece of work_ ,” he grunted.

Ryou's expression was unchanged. In the realm of their minds, physical harm did nothing. He allowed Bakura to exert his frustration until Bakura crumbled back to ground, robbed of his own energy. “So?” Ryou asked.

“I'm going to help him.”

 

After swiping a pair of shades off of one of Melvin's victims, Marik pressed his back to the wall outside of the entryway to the roof, scanning the area for any sign of someone that could possibly recognize him. When all was clear, he scurried through and sought refuge around the next corner, keeping himself out of view of anyone else in the corridor.

If what Bakura had said about the Millennium Ring was true, his spirit had to be there. And Marik wasn't going to let it remain in the hands of the pharaoh. “I'll wear the friggin thing if I have to,” he muttered as he peeked around the corner. No one else in the hallway. Now was his chance.

Marik sprung from his position and made the turn out of the corridor and onto the roof.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't eaten in several hours I'm about to go on the wildest trip to McDonalds


	12. Protagonist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've literally given up on chapter titles

The roof of KaibaCorp was done up in the usual over the top style expected of Seto Kaiba himself. Ten tables sat around a small dueling arena set up in the center. At the far side was Kaiba's blimp from Battle City, parked.

Marik found himself overwhelmed by various film crews setting up around the location. He scanned the area. Most tables were filled with people he didn't care about. However, in the dead center he could make out the tell-tale spiked hair of Yugi Mutou. No signs of Kaiba nearby. He strode directly for Yugi's table, keeping his eyes forward in an attempt to keep attention away from himself. But, Marik didn't mind much if people gawked at his beauty—so long as they weren't planning on alerting Kaiba to his presence.

The group of protagonists sat at a round table. It was draped in a white cloth with a slight silvery sheen to it, and lots of blue everywhere else. Blue tinted glasses, soft blue plates, and a navy blue dragon statue as the centerpieces.

Between Tea and Yugi, and across from Joey, was an empty seat, one Marik had every intention of taking. He swept in and sat down, surprising all three of them for a moment.

“ _Marik_?” Yugi asked when Marik took off his stylish sunglasses.

“That's right, I am a protagonist now just like you, remember?” the words fell out of his mouth.

Yugi nodded. “Oh, yeah. How's it going?”

“Ay, Yoog, there's a fly in my soup!” Joey broke in. “I shoulda known Kaiba would stoop to something like this.”

Yugi inspected his bowl. “Joey that's a pepper flake. See? There's another one.”

“Then why are they swimmin' around?”

“Ooh, you know what, those _are_ bugs. Typical Kaiba. At least _my_ soup is bug free.”

Marik felt awkwardly out of place among them, in that he felt infinitely more intelligent. Not that he wasn't already. “Aren't you guys missing one?” he said in an attempt to keep them all talking as his eyes scanned the immediate area for a spot the Millennium Items could be hidden.

“...Right, I guess I didn't notice,” Yugi glanced over to Joey. “Have you seen Tristan lately?”

“Last I heard he went off to summer camp,” Joey replied, shrugging.

Yugi cocked an eyebrow. “How can he be at summer camp when it's nearly winter?”

“It's summer in the Western hemisphere,” Joey replied matter-of-factly.

“You would know that if you paid more attention in Geography class, Yugi,” Tea added before sipping from her glass of water.

Yugi didn't reply right away, but instead took a moment to think that over.

“Yeah, yeah, that's great,” Marik cut in. This time he lifted the table cloth up and poked his head underneath. He spotted a black duffel bag by Yugi's feet and his heart leapt.

 

Once Bakura saw the door to their holding cell wide open, he could barely collect his thoughts. At most, he expected to see Melvin, leaning over him with a murderous stare, but he was alone. His heart pounded, hoping the only reason the door was open was that Marik had escaped on his own. Maybe he took Bakura's advice after all and was returning to Egypt. That prospect felt just as uneasy to him.

Bakura climbed to his feet using the wall for support, and made his way to the exit. When he noticed the bodies on the ground, his stomach churned. “He gave in to him,” he muttered darkly. It was all too clear what he needed to do.

Taking a deep breath, he hurried through the room outside and to the only exit he could see.

 

Marik shuddered every time a waiter passed behind him, afraid Kaiba would be there, but so far Kaiba was nowhere to be found. He leaned forward in his seat and looked over to Yugi. “Sooo, how have the Millennium Items been? You keep them in a duffel bag, right? An inconspicuous black one?”

To his dismay, Yugi wasn't paying attention. He shot a desperate look over at Tea at his left, making sure to stay low among the group. “What about you, Steve? Do you know what he keeps in that bag?”

“Well, I'd like to think whips and chains—I wrote a fanfiction about it once, maybe you could read it and give me your thoughts—”

“I'm done talking to you now.”

“Were you saying something, Marik?” Yugi asked, now suddenly aware of Marik's prying eyes.

Glancing around him beforehand, Marik decided he didn't have time to play around anymore. Kaiba could appear at any second. The words spewed from his mouth, “Can I see the Millennium Items? I mean, not so that I can take them, that isn't something I would do. I am a protagonist now.”

Yugi considered that and reached under his seat. “For some reason I don't find this in the least bit suspicious.”

 

Though the energy he received was minimal, Bakura had a different kind of energy welling inside him. The only thing he could relate it to was the feeling he had when he knew he needed to avenge his people. He found another body by B1, purple hand prints dug into their neck. He never liked trifling with Melvin, especially since what happened the last time they went head to head, but there was no other way. Marik needed him.

Bakura's legs tensed and burned as he continued up the stairs, following Melvin's trail of doomed KaibaCorp employees. His mind went to dark places as he thought about what could possibly be at the end of this path. But, he needed to focus. He only had so much time before this body would give in and he would be sent back into the Millennium Ring.

“Just hold on a little longer,” he muttered.

 

Marik's eyes were wide as Yugi handed the bag to him. His throat was tight, and his hands shook. “I should have friggin done this from the beginning, what the hell.”

“What was that?” Yugi asked.

Without answering, Marik unzipped the bag and was met with a sea of golden objects. The one he was concerned with towards the bottom.

His hand hovered over them, heart thumping deep in his chest. He was going to avenge Bakura and take back his Millennium Item. He was going to do whatever he needed to make sure he would be okay.

Just then, Kaiba traipsed on to the duel arena, a supposed stage for him, microphone in hand. He looked out over the crowd, ready to began his introduction, waiting for the cameraman’s cue that they were ready. That was when he saw him. Marik. Holding the bag filled with Millennium Items and the god cards they were due to give away to the winner of the tournament. His expression froze and he dropped the microphone. “What do you think _you're_ doing here,” he croaked.

When Marik heard Kaiba's voice, his shoulders tensed. He looked up at Yugi, who seemed confused and then back at the Millennium Items. He knew all too well what Bakura would tell him to do in this situation. He instantly stood up from his seat, duffel bag cradled in his arms, and darted off.

“Stop him! He has the god cards!” Kaiba shouted, and that was when everything went to hell. Someone scooted their seat out in front of him, and Marik tripped, the duffel bag flying out of his hands. He collided with the ground and flipped himself over instantly, narrowly avoiding the grasp of one of Kaiba's henchmen. His bag, however, wasn't so lucky. It landed directly in the hands of another employee, but he fumbled with it and the items inside spilled out onto the floor.

As Marik realized what was happening, a different henchman grabbed him from behind, ripping him backward toward where he had come from. He saw it. The Millennium Ring. It clattered to the ground a few feet away from the employee that fumbled with the bag.

The room was in chaos by this point. Everyone was scrambling to secure the bag and the god cards and the strange golden items. He couldn't let them take the Ring. Of all the items, that was the one he couldn't leave without. He shoved the employee off of him.

Just then, another employee who had been hurrying to grab the items managed to unknowingly kick the Millennium Rod, which had been lying on the ground by the farthest table, closes to the exit.

And then the exit door burst open.

Bakura wasn't quite sure what he was barging in on. It certainly wasn't a duel. And it certainly wasn't a massacre at the hands of Melvin. Just a distraught room filled with cardgame enthusiasts. But in the center, there was Marik.

Their eyes met with such intensity that neither of them could move or process what was going on around them. Bakura's breath caught in his throat, and Marik's eyes were glossed over. “You're okay,” they said nearly in unison.

_Clang_ , something metallic hit the ground by Bakura's feet, clattering a couple more times before settling in one spot. His gaze fell upon it, and a wide smile spread across his face. The Millennium Rod. An employee swept past to grab it, but Bakura tripped him and scooped the item up from the floor. Marik managed to free himself from another security guard just in time to see the item in Bakura's hands, and a smile spread on his face as well. He gave an encouraging nod.

In a throw that would make any football fan proud, Bakura chucked the rod as far as his weakened arms would let him. It spun through the air, moving at a precarious speed. Marik jumped just in time to intercept it, clutching the Rod tight between his fingers. It glowed in his palm.

Marik let out his most evil of laughs, holding the Rod up in the air victoriously. “Listen up, bitches. With this Rod, I command my Steves to gather the Millennium Items for me.”

And it was as if he had flicked a switch. Every one of Kaiba's henchmen froze in place with a new found objective in mind. They all moved like robots, picking up any of the items that were still on the floor and bringing them to the employee holding the duffel bag.

“Okay, just what the actual fuck is going on right now,” Kaiba shouted, dramatically pointing in Marik's direction. He was seething from head to toe.

“That's right, Kaiba,” Marik's tone had a rich, powerful quality to it. “I renamed all of your slaves Steve—making them _my_ slaves!”

Kaiba's expression was shocked to say the least. He didn't have a single security guard or assistant to bark orders at. “Wait—wait, wait,” his voice incredulous. “ _Even Chad from Accounting?_ ”

“No, I actually just named him Harry Balls,” Marik announced. “It's kind of easy when your password is friggin BlueEyes—you must think we are _so_ stupid.”

Yugi, who had since switched over to Yami, let out a gratified chuckle. “No way. Your password is named after your favorite card?”

“Shut up, Yugi,” Kaiba growled. “I bet your password is something ridiculous like 'I have stupid hair.'”

“It's actually the amount of times I've _obliterated_ you at cardgames.”

“Did you just—”

“The sheer number might be too _mindcrushing_ for you to comprehend.”

“Yugi, I swear to god—”

“Remember that time I summoned Exodia?”

While Kaiba had a complete meltdown, Marik and Bakura managed to lock eyes again. Absolute relief washed over the both of them. Marik then looked to the Steve holding the duffel bag filled with Millennium Items. “Now, my Steve, bring me the Items at once!”

But, the Steve didn't move. He stood with his head down, face masked by the shadows at the back of the room. His shoulders hunched.

Marik's fingers tensed against the Millennium Rod. “I said bring me the Millennium Items!”

Bakura could instantly tell something was wrong. Yami and Kaiba, who had continued shouting quips at one another had stopped as well when they realized the room had gone silent, and there was a cold, bitter atmosphere surrounding the Steve holding the duffel bag.

“Is this thing on?” Marik asked in vain, inspecting the Rod.

That was when the Steve in question started laughing. A menacing, harsh cackle. An oddly familiar cackle. It was actually more like a ridiculous guffaw. One that reeked of Barney the Dinosaur.

“ _Tristan_?” The protagonists all said at once.

“That's right,” he said, unveiling himself from the darkness. “I've gone rogue, motherfuckers.”

Tristan's voice was noticeably distorted, like something out of a horror film. He was no longer the same character, but clearly a much more evil version of himself.

Joey put his hands down on the table. “I thought you were at summer camp, dude.”

Tristan paused, looking around. “I thought this _was_ summer camp.”

“So you're the one that's been screwing around in KaibaCorp for the last week? Besides these two losers.” Kaiba said as he looked back and forth between Marik and Bakura.

“You are correct,” Tristan laughed once again. “Ever since joining that summer camp advertised on craigslist, I have learned that it is my duty to claim these items and the god cards as my own, for ultimate power.”

Yami instantly spoke up. “Tristan, I don't mean to alarm you, but it sounds like you just have indigestion again.”

“Yeah, did you take your Tums today?” Joey added in, glancing to Yugi.

“What is a Tum?” Tristan asked.

“The medicine your doctor gave you,” Joey responded. “You know, those chewable things.”

Tristan cocked an eyebrow, looking pensively over his bag of Millennium Items, and then it finally came to him. “Oooh. I thought those were candies.”

“Okay, whatever your name is, how about you drop the bag of shiny things and go home,” Marik called out.

“I'm with him on this one,” Bakura put in.

“No can do,” his ridiculous voice said. He zipped the bag shut and took a step backward, toward the parked blimp. “These are all mine.”

And that was when Evil Tristan unleashed a wave of dark energy, enough to shock the entire room into incapacitation. Even Bakura and Marik were knocked to the ground, but they were the first to get to their feet once it was over. In the distance they could see Tristan heading for the blimp to make his escape.

Marik was at Bakura's side at an instant, hand tight around his wrist. “Come on!” he shouted, nearly dragging Bakura behind him. They ran headlong around the dueling arena and toward the blimp. Marik sprinted so quickly Bakura felt as if he would lose his footing any second. In his state, moving this way would have been impossible on his own.

Ahead they could see the automatic door begin to close in preparation for take off. Marik quickened his pace, fingers digging into Bakura's forearm. Just when there was barely enough room to squeeze through, Marik dove in, Bakura making it only by a fraction of a second. The pressure in the blimp seemed to change as it lifted from the ground, and the two of them sat against the wall of the entryway, panting.

“We... We have to get the... to get the Millennium Items,” Marik huffed, bracing himself against the wall so he could stand again.

Bakura caught his breath, head toppled forward as he let his neck muscles rest. “We don't have much time.”

“How did you make it?” Marik asked.

Bakura shook his head. “I summed up a little energy. It feels like it's almost gone, though. This really could be the end for me—I'm really serious this time.”

“Well, I never gave you permission to leave me.”

Bakura glanced up at Marik, his chest tight. Even now, under the tense circumstances, with tousled hair and desperate eyes and shaky hands, Marik was undeniably sturdier than Bakura ever remembered him. Undeniably beautiful. Undeniably the only person he would yearn for for the rest of

his existence.

“We're doing this, Bakura. Don't you know we're unstoppable?” Marik offered his hand.

A deep, warm grin. “You're right.”

The two of them wandered through the blimp, surprised to find emptiness in every room and hallway they entered. Evil Tristan had definitely climbed aboard, they saw him do it, but he was doing an awfully good job at hide and seek. It then hit them. The only place they hadn't checked.

“The roof,” Bakura mused. “It seems he's toying with us.”

“I normally like being toyed with, but this involves Tristan which just kills my mojo,” Marik remarked as they made their way to the deck.

Once they found their way to the top, they saw him at the opposing end of the roof. A newly adorned cape on his back rippled with the harsh winds. Bag filled with the Millennium Items at his feet.

“It's about time you fools showed up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That day Kaiba changed his password to BlueEyes1


	13. A Duel With Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More like a shadow game with destiny but that doesn't sound as cool

“You've been the one messing with our plans this entire time, haven't you?” Bakura said, leaning against the wall. His legs didn't have much remaining strength, and it took a lot of will power to hold himself there.

Yami Tristan smirked. “I couldn't let you have the opportunity to take my Millennium Items from me.”

“Why do you want them?” Marik asked. “Do you even know what they do?”

Tristan looked offended by his question. He instantly grabbed the duffel bag by his feet and pulled an item out. “Of course I do. This one is the Key. It lets you unlock stuff.” he tossed it back into the bag and unsheathed another. “And this is the Scale. You weigh things with it. It's not that hard.”

“Is this really happening right now?” Marik asked, completely taken aback. “Our final antagonist is fucking Tristan?”

“You may be wondering how I became evil,” Tristan said, completely ignoring Marik's comment, either that or not hearing it since they were standing roughly fifty feet apart. “Well, it started when I packed my lunch and headed to summer camp. I had grown tired of daytime television and the mindless rigmarole of day to day life. I needed an escape, and admission was only a few hundred dollars. I don't really remember much of my first day, but I woke up in an alleyway several hours later with a sudden thirst for power and a missing kidney. That's how I began my career as a real anime villain—”

“I'm just going to kick his ass,” Marik said, pulling up his non-existent sleeves.

“You can't do that, Marik,” Bakura said with a fading breath.

“Why not? Just look at his silly purple cape.”

Bakura sighed, his muscles cramping. “This is a show about cardgames. We settle things with duels.”

“Can I break the rules just this once? He really needs an ass kicking, seriously, _look at him_.”

Yami Tristan was picking his nose.

Bakura coughed, struggling to take in another breath. “Marik, just listen to me. Kick his ass in a needlessly complicated way. That's how this show is designed.”

Marik looked over him with steady eyes and nodded. “Okay—Are you going to be all right?”

“I don't know. Just hurry,” Bakura responded. Marik sat him down where they stood, and approached Yami Tristan, an uneasy look in his eyes.

“I don't know how this is going to work,” he shouted over a gust of wind. “I don't have trading cards and either way, neither of us are any good at duel monsters.”

“ _What's a duel monster_?” Evil Tristan shouted back.

“It's a card game made by—Why am I explaining this to you?!”

Yami Tristan began laughing maniacally again, “Don't worry, I have the perfect plan for this situation.” The air around them grew ominous and dropped to a shade of murky purple. All around them the air hissed and popped as it changed. “I challenge you to a Shadow Game!”

“Okay, I get that,” Marik responded. “But, I just said: we don't have any cards!”

He looked behind himself at Bakura just them, who wasn't looking too good. His eyes were hardly open, and his breathing was erratic. Bakura was losing his grip on reality.

“Luckily for you, I always have my Shadow Version of Trivial Pursuit,” Yami Tristan cackled, and the small arena transformed into a life-size Trivial Pursuit board. “The rules of this game are a little different than normal. We will both act as our player pieces, and we must move around the wheel to answer each of the six questions before answering a final question of the other player's choosing in order to win the game. We will roll the dice to decide who picks the topic of this game.”

Marik was overwhelmed. He moved to the center of the board along with Tristan and swallowed hard. Trivia was difficult for him, especially under pressure. He glanced around at the six colored squares surrounding them and nodded. He needed to save Bakura before it was too late. If this was the only way, then so be it.

Tristan rolled a single die, revealing a three. Marik took it from him and rolled as well, hoping for a higher number. It landed on five. He pumped his arm in the air. “Suck on that, Silly Tristan!”

“What topic do you choose?” Tristan said, ignoring Marik's statement.

Marik thought long and hard about his skills; about his street smarts. He needed something he could answer questions confidently about. And it hit him. “I choose Lifetime.”

“...Lifetime?”

“You know, the channel.”

“You can't play Trivial Pursuit just about a TV channel.”

“Bitch, watch me. I choose Lifetime.”

Evil Tristan let out another guffaw, shaking his head. “Poor, poor thing. You have no idea what you're fucking with.”

“Then bring it,” Marik replied. He glanced back at Bakura and was unsettled to see him out cold. _Gotta stay strong_ , he coached himself in his mind. _I can save him_.

“Winner takes all in this duel,” Tristan announced. “The god cards and the Millennium Items.”

Marik considered the gravity of the situation thoughtfully and then shook his head. “No. If I win, I'll just take the Ring.”

“Are you kidding?” Yami Tristan scoffed. “You have a chance at all the Items, all the power one could want... And you want just one?”

Marik cast his gaze over Bakura. “Honestly, I just want _him_.”

“Fine, then let's begin,” Evil Tristan declared.

Tristan let Marik go first. He chose the square directly in front of him and Tristan explained that answering a question correctly would allow him to move to the next and answer another question. Answering one incorrectly meant it was automatically the other player's turn. Marik didn't plan on letting Tristan even get a turn.

A giant card appeared before Marik, its back turned to Tristan, revealing the answer only to him. “The Lifetime Network was established by a merger between which two cable channels?”

Marik didn't even need to think about this one. “The Daytime channel and Lifetime Medical Television.” The card flashed green and disintegrated. “You are the one who has no idea who you're fucking with.”

“The shadows won't go easy on you,” Evil Tristan said, arms folded as he stood in the center of the wheel.

“Do you realize how silly you sound with that voice when you make vaguely threatening remarks?” Marik laughed. “It's like if Barney were to read the script of a Samuel L. Jackson movie.”

“I _am_ Samuel L. Jackson, motherfucker,” Evil Tristan responded. “Finish your god damn turn.”

Marik approached the second square and as before, another card appeared before him. “This controversial reality show began its sixth season in 2016—” Marik didn't need to read the rest. “Dance Moms.”

He flipped the bird to Evil Tristan as he sauntered to the third space. Halfway through. Only three more questions until the final one. He felt good. He was going to win this weird Shadow Game and get the Millennium Ring back.

“In what year did A+E Networks acquire Lifetime Entertainment Services?” Oh, fuck. Marik stared at the question in absolute dismay. He read it over and over again, hoping the answer would come to him somehow, but he knew the only way he could even have a chance at getting this right was by guessing. He inhaled deep and held the breath. Finally, he said: “2008.”

The card before him flashed red and two skeletal hands reached up from the ground below and clamped his feet down, keeping him from progressing further.

“Too bad it was in 2009,” Evil Tristan grinned. “Now it's my turn.”

“Yeah, let's see you do any better,” Marik put his hand on his hip.

And, somehow, Tristan did do better. He barely read the first card and knew the answer. His second question might as well have been a joke. He reached Marik's space and stood beside him, raising his eyebrows. Just before the next card came up, Marik shot him a confused look. “Wait a second... If I'm not a Steve... And _you're_ not a Steve... Then who the frig is flying this blimp?”

Tristan gave him a knowing, evil smile. “One of my disciples. He goes by the name Mokuba.”

“ _Your disciple_ ,” Marik nearly busted his gut laughing. “He was my follower first.”

“You mean yesterday when you kidnapped him? He's been under my control for a week now.”

“You twisted son of a—”

The next card appeared before them, only intended for Tristan. “This Cheers spin-off features the story of a certain psychiatrist after returning home to Seattle—”

“Frasier,” Yami Tristan answered simply. Him and Marik shared prolonged, irate eye contact before he advanced to the fourth question.

“For the record, that was a really easy one,” Marik called after him, but Tristan ignored him.

Marik couldn't see Bakura very well from his spot, but he could just make out his form, slumped over onto the floor. Marik's palms were sweaty as he longed for this whole thing to just end. He wasn't about to let Yami Tristan get away with this. But, Yami Tristan was doing exceedingly well at Lifetime trivia.

Tristan looked over the next card that appeared. It was a question about the current Lifetime slogan—something not even Marik could keep track of. And to his amusement, Tristan got it wrong as well. Marik sighed with relief, glad he wasn't the one to get that question. The hands around his feet released and he approached the fourth square, side-eying Evil Tristan like it was his profession.

“This movie follows the gruesome actions of med student Philip Markoff in—”

“Pfft. The Craigslist Killer.”

And Marik proceeded to the fifth question, the end in sight. As he expected, it was another simple one. He moved to the sixth question, his eyes on the final stop in the direct center of the wheel, and anxiously waited for the card to appear.

“Don't fuck up,” Tristan remarked menacingly.

Marik tensed when the card exposed itself to him. “In 1996, TCI announced it would drop Lifetime to make room for what news channel?” Another one he wasn't sure about. He couldn't think straight. His eyes were only on Bakura and his mind was only on winning.

“Having trouble?” Tristan asked.

Marik shook his head, though he knew he couldn't think of the answer. He sighed. “MSNBC?”

Tristan's laugh told him he was wrong without even looking. His feet were clamped down to the floor once again when he realized the correct answer was Fox. He shook with frustration at himself.

Evil Tristan answered his fifth question without any issue, and advanced to Marik's space. As Marik expected, and to his absolute horror, Tristan answered the sixth question correctly. He couldn't let Tristan answer the final one right. His mind went to work as Tristan approached the center of the wheel. He needed something good. Bakura's life depended on this question. If he screwed it up, he would lose everything. 

“This is it,” Yami Tristan began. “Do your worst.”

After closing his eyes and focusing all of his thoughts, Marik came to a conclusion. He swallowed, giving Evil Tristan a harsh glare. This was for Bakura. “Which of the Golden Girls's actresses was the oldest?”

Yami Tristan rolled his eyes. “You must think I am the most foolish fools in all of foolsland. Isn't the answer obvious?”

Marik kept his gaze unwavering. He remembered he needed to stay strong for Bakura's sake. Even if he lost everything, he would find a way to help Bakura. He would chase Yami Tristan down for the rest of his life if he had to. If it meant securing the Millennium Ring. “What's your answer?” Marik asked.

“It's Estelle Getty. Sophia's actress.”

The smile on Marik's face clued Evil Tristan in to how he fared. Marik began laughing his evilest of evil laughs. When the hands at his feet released him he doubled up. He wiped a tear from his eye. “Close but no friggin cigar! Gotta love those trick questions.”

When Marik composed himself, he was given his sixth question, and answered it without a problem. He approached the center of the wheel with his hand on his hip. “So, what'll it be, Silly Tristan? Do your worst.”

Tristan faltered, his own confidence fading. It was obvious he hadn't planned this far ahead. “My tummy hurts.”

“Your tummy won't get you out of this!” Marik crowed, ready for his final question.

“No... No, really. I need to go to the bathroom.”

Marik scoffed. “I see what you're doing. You're trying to forfeit aren't you? Is it because my skills are too overwhelming?”

“I—I have to go _now_ ,” Tristan's eyes were wide. His stomach gurgled. “I knew I shouldn't have eaten all those candies at once.”

Marik threw his hands in the air, exasperated. He went to speak, but the moment he inhaled, he got a smell of something he wished he hadn't. “Oh, my _god_.”

“I know,” Tristan said.

“Go, just go!”

“I can't, my feet are held down! We're still in the Shadow Game!”

“Then just forfeit!”

Tristan looked all around him, hoping for another way out, but he was hopeless. He couldn't think straight. All he knew was he needed to go. He dropped his head. “Fine. You win.”

“ _I WIN_ ,” Marik shrieked as the purple clouds and ominous sounds around them dissipated. Yami Tristan was gone faster than Marik could finish exclaiming his excitement. “Did you hear that, Baku—” he stopped short when his eyes fell on Bakura's body again. His jaw clamped shut. 

Marik retrieved the Millennium Ring from the bag on the ground, an overwhelming spark of emotions welling in his head and stomach. He scurried back toward Bakura's unconscious body and laid his head across his chest. No detectable heartbeat. No breathing. His eyes grew glossy, but he held firm. He placed the Millennium Ring on Bakura's still corpse and looked over him, praying that somehow this would work; that the Ring would take to Bakura's body again and that he would be all right.

Above everything, Marik felt guilty. Like there was more he could have done. Maybe if he had fought Melvin off sooner, or if he had just grabbed Yugi's bag before Kaiba had shown up. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his forearm, watching Bakura intently for any signs of movement. “Come on,” he whispered. “Come on, Bakura. You're not done yet. You have so much left to do.”

Each second that passed only had his stomach turning to more knots.

“You know, it's fine, okay? It's okay if Ryou's body won't accept you anymore. It's okay. I—I'll just wait for you. I'll take the Ring and keep you safe and when you find a new host, I'll be there. I'll—I'll be ready to see you again—I... I,” actual tears streamed down his face now. “I'll never let you be alone in there.”

Marik shut his eyes, his own chest trembling with each labored breath. He remembered Bakura's words about staying strong. He wasn't about to let himself fall victim to Melvin, but being emotionally strong in this situation was easier said than done. He selfishly desired for Bakura to just wake up already and for them to get on with their lives. He wished there was some kind of medicine or antidote to fix this whole thing. One that would somehow mend his own breaking heart.

After a couple minutes, Marik knew he needed to just face it; that tragedy was how this story was meant to end. He sopped up the moisture from under his eyes once more, and leaned over Bakura, kissing him on the lips a final time. And then he whispered something. It was quick, and so quiet that the passing breeze swept it away. He let out a final defeated sigh.

“You _what_ me?” Bakura's voice was just as quiet, but in Marik's ears it might as well have been blasting from the largest speaker money could buy.

Marik gasped, wondering if he had been hearing things, but Bakura's eyes were open, weakly looking up at him. He threw his arms over him, burying his face deep into his shoulder. His heart was in a complete frenzy, pounding away in his chest. In Bakura's he could just make out his heart beat as well. It was everything he ever dreamed of. Overwhelming happiness. Overwhelming hope.

 

Bakura was in and out of consciousness as he recharged with the Ring. Marik went in search of Mokuba, and on the way passed the door to the bathroom. He grabbed the nearest chair he could find and propped it up against the handle, giving Tristan the middle finger through the door.

He found Mokuba in the cockpit, who was actually elated to see him.

“Listen, I'm sorry about all that,” Mokuba said. “I really did enjoy Golden Girls, I promise.”

“Everyone enjoys Golden Girls,” Marik replied, looking out over the city through the windows. “Do you think you could drop us off somewhere?”

“Just tell me where.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe Yami Tristan is my creation What have I done


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank you guys enough for reading. This has been an incredible journey. Please enjoy this short final chapter, and know that you're super cool.
> 
> Also, when you finish, feel free to read through [some scrapped scenes](http://banana-ghoul.tumblr.com/post/151633372331/unpaid-interns-deleted-scenes) I had dreamt up while writing this story!

“After the conclusion of this past Saturday's Dine & Duel event, there have been rumors spreading about changes to KaibaCorp's security code going into effect sometime this week. Fans all over the internet have been arguing the tournament's legitimacy, especially when it was called off after only being televised for three minutes. Let's take a look at what CEO Seto Kaiba has to say about—“

“Marik, do turn that thing off—I'm sick of hearing Kaiba's name,” Bakura said from the kitchen as he finished washing out his kettle in the sink.

“Even though you just said his name,” Marik retorted from his place on the couch.

“Don't make me take the remote from you,” Bakura shot back, shooting a glare at the couch.

Marik stretched, observing the buttons on the channel changer. “Why don't you try, then?”

Bakura was already at the other end of the couch, hands on his hips. “Give it here.”

“Maaake me,” Marik taunted, waving it around obnoxiously.

In a matter of seconds, Bakura was straddling him, but before he could grab the remote, Marik flung it off into the kitchen. It clattered against their oven. “Really?” Bakura sighed.

Marik reached his arms up and around his shoulders, drawing him in for a kiss. “Really,” he replied as they parted.

“Mmm, I can see this going places,” Bakura muttered against Marik's cheek.

“Me too, but just imagine this,” Marik began, his tone overly excited. “We're in the throes of passion, just about to reach climax, and _there he is_ , Kaiba's disapproving face on the television screen at his press release!”

“I'm turning it off before we start.”

“No you're not, I want this to happen.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see your face when it does,” he snickered, kissing Bakura again.

Bakura only gave him his usual stare.

“Oh, come on, it would be funny.”

Bakura ran the bridge of his nose under Marik's chin, hoping to distract him, but it was too late. Marik was on a roll. He pointed at Kaiba on TV and declared “Just imagine that face unknowingly looking right at your white ass!”

“Ah, yes, I'm definitely in the mood now,” Bakura rolled his eyes.

“C'mon, just ignore the TV—my body is _way_ too beautiful to look away from.”

Bakura knew he was right, even if Marik was just being silly. They shared another kiss, though it was deeper this time, and Marik's hands traveled to all the right places on Bakura's body. He guided his jacket off of his arms, accidentally jamming their noses together in the exchange. Bakura looked down at Marik, taken away by his eyes.

“Something on your mind?” Marik asked when Bakura didn't say or do anything for a moment.

Bakura sighed and looked away, a noticeable blush appearing on his cheeks. “I just... I don't know... I wanted to say thank you.”

“For saving your ass?”

“Precisely.”

“I mean, I'm glad I could at least save the Ring, ha, even Tristan was surprised when I only—”

Bakura's brow furrowed. “When you only what?”

Marik realized what he had said and immediately shook his head. “Let's talk about something else! Your ass is looking almost as nice as mine today!” But it was no use. Bakura's expression demanded him to continue what he was saying. Marik sheepishly averted his gaze. “I... I _chose_ to only take the Ring.”

Bakura was confounded. It seemed as if his eyes were going to pop out of his head. “You _WHAT._ ”

“I, uh, I gave up the rest of the Millennium Items... And just took the Ring... When I won...”

Bakura rubbed his temples, trying to take in the situation. “You told me you heroically stole it from Tristan before he could get away. I should have _known_ you were lying!” he dropped his head onto Marik's chest, muscles tensed in his arms. “I don't understand. I don't get you. We could have had everything. But you only took one of the things.

Marik shrugged, keeping his gaze away from Bakura's. He tried his hardest to keep himself from laughing, or even so much as cracking a smile.

“I will _never_ let you live this down, Marik. I can't believe this. I can't believe you could have taken all the items, _including the Ring_ , and you took _only_ the Ring—What goes on in your head?”

“I was just thinking,” Marik let his smile through. “of all the adventures we can have trying to get the rest of them back. I won't have to go back to Egypt, and... our story won't end so soon.”

Bakura felt his disposition soften in that moment, though of course he was still frustrated. He dragged his lips across Marik's again and gazed down at his gorgeous eyes. “I guess I can live with that.”

“I know I can,” Marik replied, kissing him on the forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is where it ends. All I can say is 'wow,' This was a journey and a half. I definitely plan on posting more Abridged fics in the future--I actually have some in mind right now. I'll also be writing some no plot smut. I hope you stick around, but if this is where we end, all I can say is thank you for everything. Thank you for being a friend. Traveled down the road and back again. Your heart is true. You're a pal and a confidant.
> 
> If you'd like to keep up with me, feel free to follow me on tumblr. My URL is banana-ghoul. on twitter I'm thecoolestgoule.


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